


your bones are puzzle pieces

by smolsarcasticraspberry



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Clone Angst, Gen, all Shiros are valid, blackashi, but this one's having a hard time accepting that, mostly about Kuron, twinganes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolsarcasticraspberry/pseuds/smolsarcasticraspberry
Summary: "He's Shiro. He's definitely Shiro. But the fact that he has to keep telling himself that is starting to worry him."he's trying to figure out why everything feels so wrong. but when he asks the Black Lion, the answers only open up more questions.there's another Shiro out there somewhere - the original Shiro - and if he can't be the 'real' Shiro, who can he be?





	1. shake up my heart

**Author's Note:**

> rated M for language (there's a lot of cussing) and for mature themes

He's Shiro. He's definitely Shiro. But the fact that he has to keep telling himself that is starting to worry him.

He stands in the training room and scowls at the wall. The debris of a recent training session litters the floor - a staff, some punching pads, someone's discarded towel - but these days he doesn't train with the team like he used it. Oh sure, he'll do a few drills, but…

He grimaces. A leader has to do his own thing once in a while. Maintain an authoritative distance. Right? Somehow he never thought that before… before…

He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders, trying to resettle the armour that doesn't quite seem to fit right these days. It always feels tight across the chest and back, for some reason. As if it was made to fit someone else. He flexes his hands, picks a spot on the floor to aim for, and does a walkover.

Tries to.

He lands off-balance and falls backwards onto the mat. The impact knocks the breath out of his lungs, and he groans at the pain that ripples away through his body. He stares at the ceiling, and the ceiling stares back.

This is fucking _ridiculous._

You can't _forget_ how to do a walkover. That doesn't make any fucking sense!

He remembers how it's supposed to go: the swing of the arms, the extension of the leg, the pitch of the body. The explosion of movement as the world spins around and then rights itself. But somehow that memory isn't connected to his muscles anymore, so that whenever he tries it, something gets lost in the wiring between brain and body.

He hauls himself to his feet, shakes off the bad fall, and tries again.

Same outcome. He gets the arms right, and the leg… but then his feet don't want to land right and his balance is all wrong and he's on his back on the mats again.

A wordless yell of frustration bursts out of him, and he balls his hands into fists and squeezes them into his face. Why? How? Like how the _fuck_ do you _forget_ how to do a fucking walkover? And the most annoying thing is, he remembers exactly how to do it. His mind knows how a walkover should feel - but it's like his body has never done it before.

Which is nonsense. He's definitely done it - here, in this very room, in front of everyone else. At the end of a tough training session when everyone needed to blow off some steam. He did it on a whim, and then chuckled at Lance and Hunk's shocked expressions. He remembers Pidge's awed 'whoooaaa!' and Keith laughing, and he remembers telling them all he took gymnastics at the Garrison for years, it's no big deal.

And then he spent the next half-hour tumbling across the training deck - backflips, front flips, twists, walkovers, somersaults. And he tried to teach Lance. He has a very clear and vivid memory of that: Lance so desperate to learn a cool trick, and Shiro demonstrating the basics and maybe showing off a little bit and everyone goofing off and laughing and having fun.

But he can't do a fucking walkover anymore.

He lies on his back on the floor of the training deck, in armour that doesn't fit properly, and tries to figure out when everything started to feel so wrong.

"I'm Shiro," he whispers. "My name is Takashi Shirogane."

But the words stick to his tongue like toffee.

This is fucking _bullshit_.

He gets up, his back protesting at the indignity of two bad landings, and stretches out his limbs. What does it matter if he can't do a walkover anymore? But he lives with this tiny grain of fear that one day someone will ask him to do it again and he won't be able to. And how the fuck is he supposed to explain that?

He flexes his fingers next to his thigh and concentrates. The black bayard appears in his hand, summoned from pure energy until it becomes a solid, physical thing. He holds it up in front of his face and stares at it.

Do something.

Do _anything_.

Can bayards get broken? Like… can you break it accidentally? He glares at the thing, willing it to change into something other than an empty handle.

"Come on," he mutters. "Work with me, you piece of shit."

Nothing happens. Nothing has _ever_ happened.

Which is fucking _bullshit_ , too, after everything he did to get it back from Zarkon. How can it just… not work? What the actual, _genuine_ fuck? But it refuses to cooperate. He holds it and it remains a blank slate, slumbering in his hand like he doesn't even exist.

He's never dared tell anyone that the bayard has no form in his hand. He makes excuses to keep fighting with his prosthetic, instead, and shrugs it off and says nothing, and desperately hopes no one calls him out on it. Like the fucking walkover thing. I mean, the gymnastics is a mild annoyance but this is, potentially, a huge fucking embarrassment. Black Paladin, decisive head of Voltron, can't use his own fucking bayard for some bizarre fucking reason.

Allura was mad at him for giving it to Lotor, and he came close to snapping and blurting out that the bloody thing doesn't even _work_. Why not give it to Lotor? Who even cares? What does it even matter?

His hand clenches around the bayard, metal scraping on metal, and he curses out loud and dismisses it from existence before he can fling it across the room in disgust. It really _would_ break if he did that. He can't afford to do any more damage.

He mooches down to the Lion's hangar, lost in thought, not really knowing where he's going or why and just desperately hoping he won't bump into anyone. But it's late - the Castle is well into the night cycle and everyone else is asleep. He's the only person left up and about.

He rides the lift down to the hangars, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets, face pulled into a frown.

The bayard worked, once. He remembers it. He remembers… charging at Zarkon, and the Black Lion speaking to him in a way she hasn't done since he got back. Not in words - it's never in words - but huge thoughts poured into his head, like vast shapes: feelings, desires, commands. She told him to charge full tilt at Zarkon, and he did, and then he remembers the bayard in his hand.

It sang to him, then. It hummed in his hand like a living thing as it reverted back to its true form, and he felt the crackling energy of it coursing through his veins. Everything was in sync, then. One perfect moment when he was absolutely in tune with the Lion and the bayard and the universe at large, and he knew exactly what to do.

And since then… it's all been a fucking _mess_.

He scuffs at the wall with his toe as the elevator drops into the depths of the Castle, all the way down to the level of the Lion hangars. He knew what to do, then. He felt the vast, ancient harmony of the universe surge through his bloodstream and he knew exactly who he was and what he needed to do.

And now when he holds the bayard it does nothing. It sings in a language he doesn't understand. The power of it feels muted. Dulled. It slumbers in his hand, as if it awoke briefly for someone else and then slept again.

But he used it. Didn't he? That was his hand that held it. Wasn't it?

"I'm Shiro," he mutters, as the elevator glides to a halt and the doors swing open. "I'm Shiro. I'm Shiro…"

He crosses the hangar slowly, a step at a time, gazing up at the Lion as she looms above him. And he remembers the first time he saw her: the door rising up, the huge beauty of her, the gleam of metal and the yellow glint of her eyes as she gazed down at him…

The memory tugs at his heart. She chose him. She looked down at him, tiny and insignificant on the floor, and decided she wanted him and no one else. They went through so much together, and then she did _something_ and he vanished and woke up on an operating table and nothing has been right with the universe ever since. So it's her fault, really, if you think about it.

He stops in front of her and looks up.

"We used to be so close," he whispers, and his voice echoes in the cavernous hangar. "What happened? Did I do something wrong?"

The Lion's eyes glint yellow, just for a moment. She lowers her head slowly and opens her mouth to let him in. His footsteps reverberate on the metal ramp as he walks inside.

He sits in the pilot's seat and grips the handles and wonders what he's doing here. Here, in the Lion, in the middle of the night. And here in general. Here on the ship, with a team he can't seem to get along with no matter how hard he tries, and a Lion that only half-wants him and never talks to him, and a bayard that won't work for him anymore.

His knuckles turn white on the Lion's controls, and he closes his eyes and grits his teeth and tries not to cry. He doesn't remember being this angry before.

Actually. No. That's a lie. He remembers being angry _all the time_ ; remembers carrying around this molten core of righteous fury that burned brighter than a thousand suns, because the universe is a cruel and unfair place and he wanted to set it all right, and he had rage enough to burn through anything that stood in his way. But somewhere between defeating Zarkon and limping back to the Castle of Lions in rags, that ball of molten rage solidified into a core of leaden cynicism. And now he's just angry at little things. Petty, ridiculous things that don't even matter.

The vast injustices of the universe don't stir his heart anymore. What's the point in being angry over it? Nothing will change and he was a fool to ever think it would. So what if Lotor is still an emperor and a conqueror who intends to subjugate people to his will? Sometimes you have to make the best of a bad job and move on, right? He can't summon any real feelings, one way or the other, over the thought of Lotor sitting on the Galran throne. But he's irrationally angry at himself for forgetting how to do a walkover. Pidge gets on his nerves, and he's pissy at Keith for leaving even though he shouldn't be. And sometimes he wants to strangle Lance until he shuts the fuck up, forever. He would never - but he wants to. Even though Lance was kinda nice to him when he was freaking out.

And he's mad at himself for freaking out, too, because he's Shiro the Hero of the Garrison, Shiro the Leader, Shiro the Guy Everyone Looks Up To, he can't freak out on people! But he's angry all the time and he wants to punch his way through a wall and he's scared to look in the mirror and see hair that's not right and a face that doesn't feel like his and armour that doesn't fit and…

And.

_Fuck._

Just honestly fuck all of it, all together in a fucking heap.

He lets out his breath in one long, shaky sigh, and sinks back in the seat. He closes his eyes and concentrates… reaches out, the way he did once in this hangar, on the day when Black showed him her past and her trauma and her history with Zarkon.

She murmurs beneath him, but nothing comes back through the bond. It's like the whole link is muted - like their messages are passing through smoke and debris and electromagnetic interference and all that gets through is static. She's there. But she's not talking.

Suddenly the rage comes back, too powerful to be pushed down. A pulse of white-hot fury that surges through him, fills his veins, turns his bones to rods of steel.

"Why did you do it?" he demands, out loud, to the Black Lion. "Why? I don't understand!"

He beats his fists against the controls - the levers, the panels, the console - and tears sting his eyes but he pushes on, past the sadness into the anger that shakes him like an earthquake.

"Why did you send me back there!" he yells. "Why? I trusted you! And you sent me back to Zarkon! To that prison! To that witch who--"

_NO_

Her voice comes suddenly. Not really a voice, just - an impression of the word. An overwhelming feeling of negation to what he's just said.

It's Black. She's talking to him.

He blinks in surprise and stares around the cockpit, but the not-really-a-voice came from somewhere deep inside him. From her, and the connection they share. However dulled and useless; however dysfunctional. They're still connected.

He forces himself to breathe slowly. Sit back on the chair. Close his eyes. Lightly - _lightly_ \- grip the controls. Concentrate.

"You sent me back," he whispers. "I woke up in the lab--"

_NO_

Not a word. Just… a firm rebuttal. Less forceful this time. More gentle. She hums beneath him - alert, aware, ancient and powerful and waiting.

"I don't understand," he says.

Nothing.

He tries again.

"Show me."

She is there, suddenly, in his head; rushing up from some vast, empty plain to meet his mind and merge with him, wrap him up in her knowledge and power and embrace him. He remembers this feeling, but as it happens it's like… it's the first time, almost.

He closes his eyes, instinctively, and his hands tighten on her controls as Black takes hold of him and settles into his mind.

He opens his eyes.

He sees himself. His _old_ self.

The memory pulses, fluctuating between images and impressions and feelings. He's looking out of his own eyes - and now he's looking down at himself, his hair the way it used to be - and then he's back inside himself - only it all feels different. That molten core of anger burns in his heart, brighter than a star, and he's holding the bayard and the Lion sings beneath him, deep and bold and fierce, urging him on, their battle cries a beautiful deadly harmony setting the universe to rights. Now he's outside himself, watching the bayard connect with the Lion's console. Now he flips - he's in the Lion, everything is just huge thoughts and concepts too vast for words - the overwhelming sense of connecting, joining, power flowing from one to the other, the bayard finally back where it belongs…

He feels the way she loves him. This huge beast, older than the stars, battered and scarred and scared to trust again - but she loves him, it's _love_ that pours over him and around him - because he unlocked her wings for her, gave her back that gift, made her feel whole again.

Voltron's sword blazes red with impossible flame, and he drives it into Zarkon's heart.

Pain comes now, with the memory, visceral pain that courses through him. And pure energy, crackling in his veins… The Lion beneath him, around him, her concern a bright pulse of light in his mind.

A blinding flash of white.

He's gone. The chair is empty.

He gasps for breath, the memory so real it's like it's physically happening again - only this time, he has the Lion's side of things to add to the puzzle. His body screams at him but he pushes through the pain and forces himself to stay put, in the memory. Stay with the Lion. See what she has to show him.

Feelings - images - Voltron torn apart, the debris from Zarkon's suit - he scrabbles for the memory, feels it slip away - until Black tugs at him. Pulls him back into the moment. The key moment. The reason she brought him here.

Blinding flash of white light. Empty chair. And Black…

She's terrified.

He holds his breath. Lets the recollection pour over him like a wave.

Fear. Panic. He was there and then gone, and Black is desperate - scared - wondering where he went. She loves him and he's gone and she doesn't know where.

She flings her spiritual self out into the universe, searching for him. Scanning the immediate vicinity for the sense of him - the telltale glimmer of his quintessence, the taste of his mind in the astral plane that connects them. She finds nothing. She searches further, extending herself outwards, reaching across stars - blaming herself, panicking as she doesn't find him - wondering where he went and why he's not here.

She doesn't know what happened.

He exhales, all at once, his heart racing in his chest. She _doesn't know_. He opens his eyes, and the memory fades, but it leaves behind an impression of great sorrow and regret. Black didn't do this to him. Her Paladin disappeared out of her cockpit and she doesn't know how or why, and she didn't do anything to prevent it, and the guilt of it drove her to despair.

"Then how did I get there?" he asks. His voice shakes.

_YOU ARE NOT HIM_

The feeling hits him like a hurricane; it robs him of breath, wipes out any other thoughts in his head in a rush of sure, certain knowledge that barrels over him.

The Lion would know, of course. She reads energy and quintessence. Feels the shape of her Paladin's mind. And she is absolutely sure that he isn't Shiro. Not the original Shiro, anyway. There's no arguing with that ancient wisdom. If she says he's not the same, he's not the same.

"How is that possible?" he whispers. "I'm Shiro. I'm…"

Compassion pours out of her - a strange, alien feeling coming from a giant robot. But it _is_ compassion. And he understands why, even though the thoughts do not arrive in his head in words. He isn't Shiro. He isn't the same guy who bonded with her, sat with her, made her feel safe. But he's similar. Close enough that Black decided to trust him and give him a chance. Close enough that she cares about him, that she's sorry she hurt him with her rejection, that she wants him to be happy the way her Paladin was happy when they flew together.

He hangs his head, arms limp on the controls. Tears spill from his eyes, born of frustration and confusion and fear. How can he not be Shiro? How can he be someone else? But Black is convinced - she's absolutely certain. And she would know.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispers.

Regret rolls out of her. But she was confused and scared when he first turned up. And then he gets an impression of himself, from the Lion's point of view: sitting in this seat, gripping her controls, begging her to trust him… She didn't want to hurt him, he realises. She didn't know how to tell him. It took her a while to figure out that he didn't know he was different, and that he thought he was the same person as before, because to Black the difference was always obvious.

_I MISS HIM_

The feeling comes suddenly, accompanied by the overwhelming sensation of pain and misery and loss. It's so visceral and raw that he wails in sympathy with it, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks. He feels the depths of Black's despair and it wraps a hand around his heart and squeezes.

"What happened to him?"

She doesn't know how to explain it, so the answer comes as a confusing jumble of images that make no sense, and ideas that are too big to grasp. But he sees him - his other self. There's… a vast plane, a dark star-studded sky. The place where Black fought Zarkon, he realises. And the other Shiro - the _real_ Shiro - standing under the stars like a ghost, rimmed in power, glowing faintly white…

He's still out there somewhere, and Black is still connected to him, but something happened to him and he's no longer physically there and - a vague impression of _distance_ , of insurmountable separation and loss - other stars - the empty gulf of space and - no. It's a mess. He doesn't understand it. Whatever happened - however the Lion sees it - it's beyond his ability to comprehend. Just trying makes his head hurt.

_GET HIM BACK_

That note of command brooks no argument. But he doesn't know _how_. He doesn't know where to start. She didn't give him much to work with. Just the sure and certain knowledge that he's not Shiro. Not really.

She withdraws from his mind in a rush - and that's it. She's done talking. He shakes his head and tries to reorient himself.

He stares around at the Lion's cockpit, and the dim purple lights that tell him the Lion accepts him. He stares at his hands and waits for his thoughts to line up in some semblance of order.

_You're not him._

It ought to scare him. Because if he's not Shiro then who the fuck is he? Why does he look like Shiro and have all his memories if he's actually a different person? Different energy, different body, different thoughts… But the same face, somehow, and a bunch of memories that aren't technically his. He should be terrified right now, shouldn't he?

But instead all he feels is an overwhelming sense of relief. He doesn't feel like Shiro because he's _not_ Shiro. Everything feels off and wrong and twisted up and out of line because… he's not the same person. He's been trying to play the role of Shiro… but that's not him. The Lion is absolutely sure of it.

And that sure as fuck explains a few things.


	2. tear the truth from me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gets kinda dark. fair warning.

He talks to Coran first.

He's not sure why. Maybe because he's the closest the team has to an actual grown up.

He briefly considers not telling anyone and keeping it all to himself. But after a fitful night mulling over everything the Black Lion said, and a day spent desperately trying to act like nothing has changed, he decides he needs moral support. He's tired and frustrated and he's had a pounding headache for hours and Coran's like… a Level 50 Adult. It's time to dump shit on him and cry until he fixes it.

Maybe not _actually_ cry. He still has _some_ dignity left.

He finds Coran on the bridge, after everyone else has wandered off to the break room to wind down for the evening. Coran sits at his workstation, still going through reports and maps and plans, and he clears his throat to get the man's attention.

"Ah, number one!" Coran says as he turns around. "What can I do for you?"

"Coran… have you ever heard of someone… getting someone else's memories?"

It's not the best place to start, but he doesn't know how else to approach this except by easing into it. Coran gives him a thoughtful look.

"I suppose it's theoretically possible," he says. "But I've never heard of anything like it. Is something wrong?"

"I don't… I don't know." His head hurts, and the lights on the bridge are too bright, and he's just so _tired_. He rubs his temples with his thumbs, trying to chase away the ache in his skull, and Coran radiates concern as he stands up and walks over to him.

"You look like you've been overdoing it, Shiro."

Coran's voice is soft - almost parental - but the sound of a name that isn't really his makes his nerves jangle. He grits his teeth.

"I feel like I'm not myself," he says. "I'm not really me."

Anxiety fills his mind like smoke, and he clenches his hands into fists and tries to fight it.

"Well, you've been through a lot these past few months," Coran says, but the words seem to come from far away. "You're bound to get a little stressed, not to worry!"

"That's not it!" He has to yell the words to make sure they're heard over the hammering of his heart and the pounding in his head. Coran pulls back, and his face falls from jovial cheer to something more serious. More thoughtful.

"I'm not Shiro," he mutters, and he looks at the floor rather than meet Coran's gaze. "I have his memories. But I'm not really him."

For a moment, the silence threatens to swallow him whole. But Coran's hand lands on his shoulder, and he looks up into the man's sympathetic gaze.

"What makes you say that, number one? Did something happen?"

He thinks about lying. Brushing it all off. But the floodgates have opened and now he's running downhill towards the inevitable truth.

"The Lion told me," he says. "I wanted to know why she… why she sent me back to the Galra. But she didn't. I'm not really him. I'm some kind of copy."

For some reason, the act of speaking the words out loud lifts a weight from his heart. Maybe because he carried this fear around inside himself for so long, and finally he's sharing it with someone else. Still. He waits for Coran to recoil in terror, or sound the alarm. He waits for the horrified rejection.

It doesn't come.

Coran purses his lips.

"Let's be sure about that before we do anything hasty, shall we?" he says. "Come along. We'll run some tests. Don't worry, number one. We'll get to the bottom of this."

He nods. He doesn't trust his voice not to tremble.

 

They go to one of the medical labs - a small, circular room full of arcane equipment and monitors lining the walls. He sits there as Coran scans him and puts sensors on him and asks him questions - what do you remember, exactly? Does your head hurt? Any other aches and pains?

He tells Coran all of it. He's past caring. Let the man find out; someone should know, after all. And Coran listens without judgement, his expression thoughtful as the words come tumbling out and the truth starts to take shape.

He rubs his hands together, feeling the bumps of the metal knuckles under his fingertips. The anxiety eases in his chest. Coran seems to think everything will be alright - if his cheery demeanour is anything to go by - so maybe it will be fine. Maybe.

"Well, it looks like the Lion is correct," Coran says.

He looks up from his hands. "I'm not the same?"

"Genetically, you are identical to uh… To the previous Shiro," Coran continues. "But there are some key epigenetic differences. And your quintessence signature doesn't match either. So you were right. You're not the same person."

He lets out a breath and sags in the chair. Machines and devices wink at him from the shelves, lights blinking gently, and he wonders where to go from here.

"But I have all his memories," he says. It feels strange to refer to himself as… not himself. But that's not him. Those memories aren't his - they're borrowed from another person. From the guy he was copied from. He has nothing of his own.

"You said you woke up in a lab?" Coran asks.

"Yes. And I saw… myself. On a table. And I remember being in a tank of liquid at some point, but it's all kinda blurry."

"It's possible that Haggar cloned you," Coran says. "Well. Shiro. She had you-- _him_ in captivity for quite some time, I believe. She could have made copies."

"Why?"

Coran looks lost for a moment, as if the question has pulled him up short. There's no good answer to it. What could the witch possibly want with multiple Shiros? How did she get all those memories from him?

He scrubs his hands over his face and tries to think. Some tiny part of him had still hoped the Lion was wrong - but his overwhelming feeling is one of relief. The pieces fall into place: the sense of the world being off-kilter, the struggle to fit in with the team, the nagging feeling of being a stranger in his own skin… Maybe he should be panicking, but he feels calmer now than he has in months.

"We should tell Allura," Coran says, and he looks up.

"She's read much of Haggar's research," Coran goes on. "And she's more familiar with Altean alchemy than I am. She might be able to provide some answers."

He nods. It makes sense, even if the thought of telling Allura fills him with dread.

He sits and bounces his foot against the floor as Coran speaks briefly to Allura over the coms, and then they wait for her to come to the lab. He can only hope she'll take it as calmly as Coran did, but the worry gnaws away at him. What if she doesn't? What if she's horrified?

They got along so well, before. He remembers how easy it was to fall into step with her, and how they were on the same page from day one. And then he came back and suddenly they couldn't see eye-to-eye on anything. A working relationship that had once been easy and fluid became an uphill struggle. He couldn't understand it before, but now… It makes an odd kind of sense. The Shiro from before - the _actual_ Shiro - that was the guy she trusted and relied on as the leader of Voltron. He's just a defective copy. Whatever quality the real Shiro possessed that allowed him to get along with people, apparently that didn't get copied over in the transfer.

He finds the thought irrationally annoying. His brain can't get a grip on the fact that Haggar cloned him, or any of the implications of that, so the only thing he can emotionally process right now is the fact that she fucking short changed him on the people skills. Couldn't she have made him more charming? Maxed out some of his charisma stats? Instead of throwing a wrench into each and every one of his interpersonal relationships.

Not that they're actually _his_.

He can't quite process that part of it, either.

The door slides open, and he looks up as Allura walks in. She's dressed in her blue gown and cape, hair loose around her shoulders. She must have been winding down with everyone else. And he called her away to deal with this bullshit.

"What's going on?" she asks. "Is everything alright?"

He opens his mouth to tell her - and he can't. She looks from him to Coran, her expression guarded, worry lingering in her eyes. And the words won't come. He chokes on the truth - on having to tell her these past few months have been a lie.

Coran clears his throat. "Well, it's a bit of a difficult one, Princess…"

He watches as Coran explains it to her. Allura's expression progresses from confusion to shock to something like devastation as Coran talks. He shows her the test results, and she scowls at the screen and glances from Coran to him and back again. She picks up a data tablet from the table and glares at the display whilst Coran points out the results _here_ and _here_ , see Princess, they're not the same…

He looks away from her. At the floor, or the wall, or up at the ceiling. The hurt in her face cuts too deep.

Of course she prefers the other guy. Of course. That Shiro actually got along with her, instead of yelling at her over petty bullshit.

"I see," she says eventually. She lays the data tablet down again and walks over to him. He watches her every step of the way, and it's like waiting for a killing blow. She stops in front of him, and he waits for the worst.

"You're really not him," she says. Not a question.

"I guess not. I have a lot of his memories but… I'm a copy. A fake."

"But the real-- the _other_ Shiro. He's still alive?"

He meets her gaze. Her eyes burn with fierce hope - with that galactic-sized determination she brings to everything she does. If Shiro - _actual_ Shiro - is still out there… she'll find him.

"The Black Lion thinks so," he says. "She told me he's not dead."

Allura nods. She clasps her hands together in front of her, and he recognises it as a sign of nerves. So. This is the part where she tells him he has to leave, and it's better for everyone if he says nothing and just goes. This is the part where she accuses him of lying.

"Can you forgive me?" she says.

His eyes snap to her face and his mouth drops open. His brain plays catch-up with her words.

"What for?" he asks, incredulously. An apology is the polar opposite of what he was expecting.

"For not realising sooner." Her hands twist over each other, and her eyes dart away to the floor and the wall before she meets his gaze again.

"I mean… even I didn't realise," he says. "And I'm me."

"Still. It should not have taken this long for me - for any of us - to notice that something was wrong. I should have been more observant. Paid more attention--"

"Allura, it's okay." He tries to sound reassuring. "There's been a lot going on. You can't pick up on everything."

Her hands twist again, and she stares down at them.

"I did notice that you were different," she goes on. "I think we all did, in our own ways. But you had been through so much, and I didn't like to pry… I thought perhaps you needed time to work through things. I never thought--"

"Allura," he says again, and this time she looks at him instead of at the floor. "It's okay, really. It's not your fault."

"How long have you known?" she whispers. "How long have you felt like this and… and not said anything?"

"For a while," he tells her. "I knew something was up but I didn't know what. The Lion told me yesterday."

Concern and regret chase across her features like storm clouds, and even though he hates how much this hurts her, his heart eases. She's not mad at him. Maybe no one else will be mad at him either. Her forehead creases into a frown as she looks at him - and perhaps she's trying to see the difference in his face.

"Who else knows about this?" she asks.

"No one. Coran was the first person I talked to. I tried to tell Lance before, but… he didn't really understand what I meant."

Allura nods. She huffs a breath in and out, and her back straightens. Time for business, then.

"I think for the time being we should keep it that way," she says, and some of the usual steel glints in her voice. "This is a delicate situation. We don't know why Haggar duplicated you, or the fate of the original Shiro. We can't rule out the possibility that you were allowed to escape captivity for some reason. So for now, I would like this to remain between us. Until we can figure out what to do next."

His heart clenches. The memory of his escape bubbles to the surface of his consciousness - waking up without restraints, staggering through corridors that seemed strangely empty… His hands squeeze into fists instinctively. No. His escape was real. He fought to get out. It was real, wasn't it?

But Allura is right. Perhaps it was all orchestrated.

He swallows down the panic and nods.

"Alright. Let's not tell the others just yet."

"You mentioned that the original Shiro is still alive," she goes on.

"Yes. The Black Lion told me to bring him back but… I have no idea how."

"I thought perhaps you could help with that, Princess," Coran says. "You're the alchemist. And you have access to your father's research. And Honerva's. There might be something there that can help us make sense of this."

"I think we should try talking to the Black Lion again," Allura says. "We need a little more information to work with. Would that be alright?"

She looks at him - and the question is genuine, he realises. He can say _no_ and she won't push it. Whatever her feelings about him being a copy, she still views him as a person. The anger and resentment he expected hasn't materialised.

Perhaps she's saving it up until they find the original Shiro. The thought arrives from the most cynical and suspicious part of him - from some dark, twisted core that doesn't want to trust anyone or anything. He'll help them get their Shiro back and then he'll be banished. Their concern is just an act that will evaporate the minute they don't need him anymore.

He pushes down on it. It doesn't matter either way. She doesn't owe him anything, he reminds himself; she isn't really his friend. He's an imposter, and she has every right to turn on him - expel him from her Castle - lock him up if she sees fit. He can hardly blame her. So if it happens, it happens, and it's what he deserves.

"Alright," he says. "It's worth a shot."

 

They head down to the hangar and he sits once more in the Lion's pilot seat. Only this time, Coran stands to one side holding various sensors and monitors, and Allura stands behind him. It feels like a futile endeavour, but Allura thinks it's worth a shot, so he goes along with it even if it means, ultimately, that he's setting himself up to be replaced.

"We need to find out what happened to Shiro," Allura says. "And where he is now. Can you ask the Lion?"

"I can try," he says.

He closes his eyes and concentrates, and reaches out for the familiar feel of the Lion's mind.

She stirs beneath him, but he senses her reluctance. He came alone, before, and now he's brought people with him and she's uncertain and suspicious.

"They're here to help," he whispers to her. "We're trying to find Shiro. _Your_ Shiro."

The tension ebbs out of her, and her mind rises up to meet his; a huge, ancient power that fills his head and knocks the breath out of his lungs. He grips the controls and grimaces as she connects with him - but at least she's talking; at least she wants to help. That's something.

Allura places her hands on his shoulders. Quintessence surges through him - grounding him, reinforcing his own energy so that he can withstand the Lion's presence in his mind. The connection grows stronger, and Black's thoughts come into focus. She waits.

"What happened to Shiro?" he asks.

The answer arrives in a messy jumble of images and sensations, and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to make sense of them. Bright white light. A surge of power? Energy? Black has this feeling of him being there and then… gone, suddenly. No warning.

"He vanished," he says aloud. "There's this white light. It reminds me of that time we were inside the teludav."

"Quintessence?" Allura asks.

_YES_

Another powerful feeling barrels over him, and he braces for impact and tries to make sense of it. It's… familiarity. Confusion - fear - but a burst of _recognition_.

"Yes," he grinds out through gritted teeth. "She recognised it."

"What do you mean?" Allura asks, but the words come from a thousand miles away and the roaring in his head threatens to overwhelm him. Allura sends more quintessence into his body in a bright pulse, and the pain and tension ease. Breathe. Just fucking breathe and focus. He's useless for everything else but he can do this one fucking thing right if it kills him.

He throws himself back into the memory and reaches out for the Lion once more.

"Tell me what it means," he begs. "Tell me what happened."

Her frustration scrapes against his consciousness like sandpaper. She hates that she can't translate it into something he understands.

"I'm trying," he whispers. "I'm trying. Please, show me again."

The images come slower this time - the Lion's equivalent to speaking a word at a time. He furrows his brow and concentrates on the memory of white light filling the cockpit, and Shiro in the middle of it, confused and in pain and trying to hold on to… something. _Anything_.

 _Everything_.

He doesn't remember this bit. This memory comes from the Lion - because in that moment she was so in sync with him - with _her_ Shiro - that she could read every nuance of his mind, every thought and feeling, every breath and heartbeat. The size of it threatens to overpower him, but he grips the Lion's controls and forces himself to stay put and feel it, live it, remember it as she does. Dig down into the scraps of images, the hurricane of sensations, reach out for the truth she's trying to show him.

It's there, just beyond his grasp, tantalisingly close.

_HE BECAME LIKE ME_

White light flashes before him again, and Shiro in the heart of it right before he disappeared…

He cries out at the pain in his head and his heart and the weight of the Lion's mind pressing into his bones. But she has one final vision for him: one final message to convey. The light, the power… it surges and breaks like a wave, and he sees the endless plane stretching into infinity under ageless, nameless stars.

And himself. Shiro. The real one.

He lies under the ancient sky, a ghost made of light, his eyes reflecting the unending stars. The Lion stands behind him, and power ripples over her as she lowers her head and purrs.

She can find him easily enough, here. But out there, in the universe… he remains lost.

Her eyes blaze yellow, and the light of it consumes him, and then she withdraws from his mind in a rush, leaving only an echo of sorrow and regret. Once again, she hurt him. But he understands what she was trying to say.

He comes back into himself a heartbeat at a time, and waits for his mind to stop shaking. He draws a ragged breath.

"He changed," he whispers. "When he disappeared… She recognised him because he was like her. Somehow."

"What does that mean?" Coran asks. "He became a robot?"

"No! No." The headache is back, beating at the inside of his skull until his ears ring and his eyes blur. "He was here. And then he vanished and there was just… the quintessence. And the Lion - the Lion _inside_ \- she says he felt familiar. Like he'd changed into something… more like her."

Silence fills the Lion's cockpit. Allura lifts her hands from his shoulders, and he sags into the chair and closes his eyes. The pain in his head won't give him a minute's peace, so that even the silence echoes unpleasantly in his ears. He kneads at his throbbing temples and winces.

"Are you alright?" Allura asks.

"Just this damn headache," he mutters. "Can we go outside?"

 

The Lion opens up to let them out, and Allura helps him into a seat next to the worktable in the hangar. Coran taps away at his instruments whilst Allura fetches him a pouch of water. He sips it gratefully and watches Coran's moustache twirl between his gloved fingers as the man thinks.

"What do you make of all this, Princess?" Coran asks.

"The Lion said that Shiro… became like her," Allura says. She worries her lower lip between her teeth as she chooses her next words. "The Lions are spiritual beings. In my father's notes he often talked about how they seemed to be made of energy or quintessence, and the mechanical forms served merely as a vessel."

"You think that happened to me?" he asks. Her eyes snap to his face. "To him, I mean," he corrects himself. It's hard to think straight with the constant pain behind his eyeballs, but he scolds himself for slipping up. _I'm not him and he's not me. Don't forget it_.

"There were… legends about Altean alchemy." Her voice is soft and thoughtful as she explains it. "For many practitioners, the study of alchemy was a spiritual path. The ultimate goal was to become one with the energy of the universe. To shed the constraints of the physical form and  transform the body into pure quintessence."

"That's just a legend, Princess," Coran says. "I'm not sure anyone ever achieved it."

"Perhaps. But with the amount of quintessence the Black Lion absorbed in that battle…"

A thought occurs to him - a recollection of power and great wings.

"The Lion can pass through solid matter," he tells her. "I… _he_ did it in that battle. It took a lot of energy, but I remember… feeling weightless. Feeling like nothing. And then we passed through Zarkon and I stole the black bayard."

The Princess watches his face. He tries to bring her into focus, and fails. His head feels ready to explode, and he's _tired_ and he just wants to lie down and get rid of the ringing in his ears and the dark spots at the edge of his vision.

"I will look into it," Allura says, but her voice seems to echo and her words sound distorted and weak. "It is possible something of the sort happened to Shiro. It would explain why the Lion cannot locate him, and yet she was able to find him on the spiritual plane. I will need to check Honerva's research, but I can ask Lotor to grant me access."

Lotor. Something about the name makes his skin prickle and his fingers twitch. And the pounding in his head is getting worse. He needs to lie down.

"Haggar must have cloned him when she held him in captivity," Allura goes on. "I wonder if she realised he had gone missing, and then… released you as a replacement. Knowing that we would trust you."

"No." The word creeps out between his gritted teeth. "No. I escaped, I fought my way out…"

"Are you alright, number one?" But the words bounce around inside his skull and the lights burn into his eyeballs and he needs to rest and sleep for like… a year. Maybe ten. His right arm itches, at the place where metal meets flesh. A strange energy crackles through his veins, and he tries to blink away the shadows in his vision but he can't.

Something is wrong. Really wrong.

He opens his mouth to tell them both that he needs space, but the ringing in his ears rises suddenly, like a struck bell, and it sends a spike of pain from one side of his head to the other. He yells out in agony, doubled over on the seat, and his mind shatters into pieces.

Everything goes black.

Darkness. Cloying, suffocating darkness that drags at his limbs. The distant echo of voices and sounds and his own ragged breathing. Pain pulses in his skull like a heartbeat, but each beat is weaker than the last, until the agony subsides and the darkness fades away and he sits up straight in the chair and assesses the situation before him.

Two enemy combatants. Both Altean, one a Sacred Altean Alchemist. Eliminate her first.

He moves fast. He surges out of the chair towards the first Altean

~~Allura that's Allura what are you~~

and slams into her. She's not expecting the blow, or his arms to wrap around her waist and carry her to the ground.

~~stop stop stop stop stop~~

She cries out and he rolls off her, his arm lighting up as he lands in a crouch and charges back at her, arm raised - but he underestimated the other one, the older man with orange hair who flings himself at him and pushes him off course.

~~oh thank god Coran stop this stop stop I can't~~

He slides away, rights himself, and stands up. Move quickly. Don't give them the chance to recover.

"Shiro, what are you--" he cuts her off with the chair, flung at her, and he follows the makeshift projectile and swings his fist at her as she ducks. Ribs crack

~~shit fuck shit shit fuck no no stop what are you doing what~~

and she spits blood and goes down.

"Allura!"

The old man wastes time rushing to her side. Perfect. He turns and roundhouse kicks him, and the blow sends him sprawling across the floor.

~~oh god no why is this happening~~

Targets eliminated. He needs the bridge and the coms.

He runs through the hallways, energised and purposeful and light on his feet, headed towards the command centre. It's preferable to keep the Alteans alive - especially the Princess - but the others can be eliminated as a nuisance.

~~NO NO NO NO WHAT THE FUCK NO STOP STOP~~

An alarm blares. Inconvenient. One of them must have called for help. He changes course, away from the elevator, and runs towards the stairs instead. He has to get to the bridge to prevent a lockdown, but priority one is to kill all the Voltron Paladins

~~this isn't happening this isn't I won't~~

and eliminate Voltron and the Lions as an immediate threat. Then double back for the Alteans and use them to override the alarms, power up the bridge, and contact Central Command.

He takes the stairs two at a time and comes out on the landing just in time to see the three remaining Paladins come running from the breakroom. Good. Not in their armour. Easy targets.

 ~~NO THEY'RE YOUR FRIENDS WHAT THE FUCK NO NO N~~ O

He pushes down on the feelings - on the voice that screams at him to stop - and charges towards them.

Smallest first,

 ~~oh god no not Pidge please not Pi~~ dge

get her out of the way. She shoots her bayard at him, but he's ready for it. He grabs the grappling hook and pulls, and she comes flying towards him and his arm that glows purple with power.

oh fuck n ~~o she'll die she'll fucking die oh god~~

She cries out, and the sound of it courses through him like an electric shock.

"Pidge!"

That was him. He yelled that. Why? He doesn't care about her

_~~FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FU~~ CK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU_

but he swings out with his left arm and bats her away, away from his glowing prosthetic that would cut through her like butter. She goes tumbling head over heels, thrown aside like scraps.

"Pidge!" That's the big one. Dangerous, deceptively fast. Eliminate.

He punches Hunk clean on the jaw and watches him crumple

~~oh shit no no no~~

and turns his attention to the last one.

Skinny. Ranged weapon; not suited to close combat.

 ~~oh~~ fuck ~~no why wh~~ y why

Lance hesitates. Doesn't move. Eyes wide, pupils darting from Pidge to Hunk to his hero standing over him.

He lashes out with the Galra prosthetic and grabs Lance by the throat.

**stop it ~~stop it sto~~ p stop fuck ~~ing st~~ op god no st ~~op~~**

Lance's mouth gapes open. His fingers scrabble at the prosthetic hand, trying to find some purchase on the smooth surface, but the metal heats up as he lifts him bodily from the floor.

Lance doesn't even have breath to scream as the mechanical hand sears his flesh

**_he'll die he'll die stop ~~oh god no st~~ op _ **

and he thinks about snapping his neck and ending it quickly.

But Lance's eyes lock to his, glassy with terror, and he reads the betrayal and it cuts through him like shards of glass.

**_GE ~~T~~ OFF HIM GET ~~OF~~ F HIM GET OFF HIM_ **

He wrenches his hand away. Lance drops to the ground, and takes a horrible wheezing breath, both hands on his neck where ugly welts rise from the skin in the shape of a hand.

 _No. No. This isn't right these are his friends they're_ friends _he won't hurt them he won't_

Pidge groans, somewhere behind him, and he whirls around. Hunk, too, staggers to his feet, clutching at his head.

"Shiro?"

"Stay back!" he yells. A bolt of pain punches into the centre of his head--

\--eliminate both targets, then bring the Alteans to the bridge and--

**NO FUCK NO NOT THAT**

\--he staggers sideways, bumps the wall, grabs his prosthetic and wills it to power down--

\--smallest target first, kill her then--

"Get away!" he screams. "Get back!"

He turns and runs--

\--eliminate target--

\--and his head throbs. It's like metal spikes being pushed through his eyeballs, but he has to keep running--

\--destroy Voltron Paladins and proceed to--

\--away, away from them, get away and out and gone.

He turns the corner, bounces off the wall, rights himself, and keeps running. Up ahead. The airlock. That's his exit point. He slides to a halt in front of it and slams his hand into the door release.

\--complete the mission--

_**NO!** _

He won't kill his friends. Even if they're not really his.

He staggers into the airlock and slams the door shut behind him.

Allura and Coran appear at the end of the corridor. They run towards him - and he knows, somewhere deep down, that they'll try to force the door open. Well, good fucking luck with that. He punches his metal arm into the control panel, sending up a shower of sparks.

"Shiro!" Allura's voice comes from so far away, muffled by the door panels and the return of the killer headache that fills every available space inside his skull. But she's alive and breathing. Coran is on his feet - looking a little worse for the wear - but he's not dead either. That's all that matters.

He hits the release for the outer door, and the countdown starts. Only five ticks. Not enough time to even get his head on straight. Fucking figures.

Allura pounds on the door. He catches her eye and shakes his head, and her hand drops from the clear panel. Are those tears in her eyes? Why would she cry for him? He's not even a real person.

The outer doors slide open. The vacuum of space rushes in to claim him.

He tumbles out and over, and it's the cold that really hits him. His body tries to breathe in nothingness, but the cold is so complete that it consumes every other sensation. Like a thousand nails driven into every inch of his skin. Frost forms on his cheeks and his fingers, spreading by the millisecond, and he gives it under a minute before the air left in his lungs freezes solid.

Oh well. There are worse ways to die.

The brute force of the cold drives his consciousness from his body, which is probably a good thing. He can just drift away into oblivion. His vision blurs and darkens, and he tries to close his eyes but they've already frozen over, but maybe that's okay. He'll die seeing stars. Seems fitting.

He floats against the universe. A tiny speck. A waste of breath. A fake and a fraud and a liar.

The stars merge together as his brain shuts down, and the last thing he sees is the Lion, black and solid against the stars, her eyes like yellow supernovae as she plummets towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's not dead, i promise. sometimes before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger...


	3. gather up the scraps of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story ended up longer than i expected (you would really think, given how often that happens to me, that i would learn by now and adjust my expectations accordingly, but i haven't) so i've broken up the final chapter and i'll post it in two parts. so here's chapter 3 of 4. still dealing with some dark stuff so: fair warning.

He wakes up to bright light, and winces.

His body aches all over, all the way down to the bones. He's lying on a bed of some kind - firm, but not uncomfortable - and he squints as his eyes try to adjust to the glare.

If this is the afterlife, he wants a fucking refund.

He tries to sit up, loses his balance, and lurches unpleasantly sideways.

His arm is missing.

He sits up more slowly this time, and assesses exactly how fucked he is right now.

His fingers explore the stump of his right arm, and he looks for any bruising. But it's not sore. Whoever removed his arm, they did it carefully. They also, presumably, dressed him in the pyjamas he's now wearing.

He glances around at his surroundings. He's not in his own room - the walls here are glass, and the circular space is brightly lit but the area outside is dark and empty.

Wait.

"Really?" he says aloud. "I get the fucking _Lotor_ treatment?"

Because this is Lotor's cell, in the bowels of the Castle. What had Lance called it? The Tube of Shame?

Wa-- FUCK. _Lance_.

_FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK_

He runs his hand into his hair. The memories return in a rush, and the mental images line up to punch him in the gut as they land in his consciousness. He attacked them. His friends. Something snapped in his head and he took them all out with clinical precision.

He scrubs his face with his hand. They're not actually his friends, he reminds himself. They never were - not really - and after this… well.

A monitor on the wall flickers into life, and Coran's face appears on the screen. The ugly purple stains of a bruise cover Coran's cheek and temple - and the memory of kicking the man in the head explodes into his recollection.

"Ah. You're awake," Coran says.

"Coran!" He searches the man's eyes. "Is Lance okay? Did he…? Is he alive?"

"I'll, uh… I'll just come down and we can have a bit of a chat."

"Did I kill him?"

Coran's face goes carefully blank, and he hesitates before answering.

"No, you didn't kill him," he says at last. "He's in the cryopods as we speak. He'll make it."

He sags with relief. Lance is alive. Whatever else he might be, he's not a murderer.

"And everyone else?" he asks.

Coran gives him a tight smile. "Why don't I bring you something to eat and I can fill you in? I'll be down in a tick, number one. Just uh. Stay where you are, eh?"

It's not like he has a choice.

Time seems to slow down as he waits for Coran to arrive, and as the seconds trickle by he sits and stews in what he did and what he is and how much, exactly, he ripped apart when he got… switched on. Activated? Who knows. But something happened and now he's even less welcome than he was before.

Eventually, Coran arrives with a tray of food goo and some water, and as he watches the man walk across the gangway each step seems to echo like drum beats summoning the executioner. Coran reaches the cell door and opens the small hatch to slide the food tray into the interior.

He doesn't move. He feels too nauseous to be hungry. He sits on the edge of the bed, arm rested on his knee, and watches Coran through the glass.

"How are you feeling, Shiro?" Coran asks.

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. Number one."

"Don't call me that either."

Coran sighs, and tucks his hands in his pockets. The gesture looks odd on him. The old advisor is usually so composed and formal.

"How about number one-B?" Coran asks.

He says nothing. He kicked the man in the face and punched his as-good-as-a-daughter in the ribs and here he is, making small talk and bringing him food. He doesn't deserve it.

"What happened?" Coran's voice is quiet, but the question carries nevertheless.

"I don't know," he says. "I felt this… sharp pain in my head. And then I think I blacked out for a second, and I woke up and suddenly… I wasn't in control anymore."

He stares at his hand, and the ugly bruise smeared across three of his knuckles. He ignores the sinkhole opening up in his chest and carries on.

"It was like I had some kind of programming. I just had to eliminate any threats and take over the Castle. I was still there, in my head, but… I couldn't stop it. It was like someone else was controlling me."

"But you did stop it," Coran says softly. "You could have killed Lance, but you didn't. You spaced yourself instead."

He blinks back the tears that blur his vision and looks up into Coran's face.

"Why did you bring me back onboard?" he asks. "You should have left me out there."

"You would have died."

"It would have been for the best."

Coran shakes his head. "I don't believe that for a tick, one-B. And you shouldn't either."

"Really? Then what's going to happen to me now?" he demands. The anger flashes through him like fire, and he suddenly doesn't care. "You'll keep me in a cell? I'll just rot away down here forever?"

Coran frowns at him - and there's a hint of steel in his expression that is usually hidden beneath the layers of bumbling good-natured cheer.

"If you really think you'd be better off dead, I'll take you to an airlock right now," he says. "You can finish the job. I won't stop you."

The scathing reply dies on his tongue. Trust Coran to call his fucking bluff. He spaced himself in a blind panic, as a last resort, because he was a danger to the people around him. A soldier's protective instinct - like throwing himself on a grenade. But as much as he hates himself right now, he's not about to try something like that again. The memory of icy death creeping over him makes him shiver - and not just from the recollection of the cold. He survived. That has to mean something.

"That's what I thought," Coran says. "Besides. We didn't save you. The Lion did."

_That_ pulls him up short. But… yeah. He remembers the Lion being there. She came out to save him. Which… _why_? Why does she even care?

He runs his hand over his face, and Coran stands there in silence until he's ready to talk again.

"Is everyone else okay?" he asks.

"A few bumps and bruises, but nothing that won't heal," Coran tells him. "You gave us all quite a scare, but there's no permanent damage."

"Why is my arm missing?"

"Ah. Yes. Well." Coran rocks on his heels, his face grave. "Princess Allura suspected your arm was being used to control you. So we removed it. Hunk and Pidge will check it over and see if they can debug it, but for the time being you'll have to make do without, I'm afraid."

He stares at him. The arm…? But - no, actually, it does make sense. Didn't Hunk say something once about the arm interfacing with the brain? And the Galra gave it to him. They could have hidden any kind of secret programming in there and left it dormant. Waiting for the opportune moment to activate it and turn him into a weapon.

He shudders. Was he ever really free of them? He's a clone, bred in a lab as a tool for Haggar to use any way she sees fit. No memories of his own. No life, no purpose, no reason for existing outside of the mission the Galra forced on him. He failed that mission, and he's failed his friends, and now there's nothing left.

He sits on the bed and stares at the floor and wonders why he's still alive. Why the Lion saved him when he's not really Shiro. Hell, he's not even really a _person_.

He sighs and looks up at Coran, still standing just outside the cell, hands tucked into his pockets. Concern softens his face - even after everything.

"Haggar did this to me," he says quietly, and he forces himself to meet Coran's gaze. "She made me this way. She must have activated the… the programming. Somehow."

"We're trying to figure out how she did it," Coran says. "Allura has gone to speak to Lotor, and look through some of Haggar's research in the lab. But we suspect - as you do - that this was the witch's doing. She used you to try to get to us."

"It worked. I could have killed you all."

"On the contrary, one-B." Coran's voice is stern; his eyes steely as he talks. "She failed. Because of you."

"How the fuck do you come to that conclusion?" He doesn't even care that he's swearing out loud. He's not Shiro. He's not the Black Paladin or the leader or the role model or the hero of the garrison or anything else. He can say what he fucking wants.

"You resisted," Coran says. "You fought back. Your will overpowered hers. And you made the choice to sacrifice yourself rather than risk the lives of others."

That's a somewhat rosy slant to put on the situation. Especially after he broke Allura's ribs and put Lance in a healing pod for fuck-knows how long. He pulls a face.

"Believe me or not, it's up to you," Coran goes on. "But Haggar was no match for you. And I think that's a very good sign."

"A good sign of what?" he asks. He stands up and paces the length of the cell and back again. "It doesn't matter if I fought back! I'm just a copy. What happens to me now? What happens when you find the real Shiro and he wants his Lion and his friends back?"

He stops in front of Coran and looks into his eyes. Coran looks away and studies the ground before he answers.

"I don't know," he says. "None of us really know how to handle this. But I promise you, we're going to find a solution that doesn't involve you dying alone in the vacuum of space."

He looks at Coran's earnest expression. And he wants to believe it. He wants to believe there's a solution to this mess that includes him, the defective copy, somehow getting out of it all alive. Maybe even having _friends_ , and something to do on the Castle ship, and a place in the universe that's not utterly stolen from someone else.

But he just can't see it. He's not Shiro, and he's fucking terrible at trying to _be_ Shiro - but he doesn't know how to be anyone else. He doesn't know how to carry on with another man's memories - with the ghost of someone else's past haunting him every step of the way.

Maybe if he hit himself really hard on the head he'd forget all of it. Get a fresh start with a blank slate. Maybe that's the best he can hope for.

"I appreciate that you're trying," he says to Coran. And it's true. He appreciates the effort, even though deep down he doesn't believe anything will come of it.

 

Coran leaves him to it, and he quickly realises that he'll be in this brightly-lit cell for the foreseeable future.

Not that he can blame any of them. Not after what he did.

The cell is comfortable, at least. There's a few data tabs and recordings on the table, so he has something to keep him entertained. A decent bed and an armchair. A tiny washroom in the back, and a cupboard with fresh linens and spare clothes. He's stayed in far worse.

Well. He has the _memories_ of far worse. The person who actually stayed in them was the other guy.

He occupies himself with reading through the data tabs, and picks idly at the food. _Actual_ Shiro would probably spend his time in a cell like this doing push-ups or something, but honestly fuck that guy at this point. He's not him, and he's done trying to pretend. No matter what he does, he'll never live up to the original - and since everyone knows the truth by now, there's no reason to keep up the act. He lies on the bed and watches videos instead. What else is there to do?

Coran checks in on him every few hours, but he never tells him much about what's going on in the rest of the Castle. He brings down some more food in the evening, and then adjusts the lights to reduce some of the relentless glare, and brushes off any further questions about Allura or Lotor or the rest of them.

This is how it will be now, he realises. He's not a member of the team. He's a stranger - an outsider, an imposter sent to harm them - and they have no reason to trust him or include him.

That night, he lies on the bed and thinks about Coran's words. At least he didn't kill anyone. At least he was able to fight back against Haggar's control.

But it's cold comfort. It doesn't change the fact that he was made to be a weapon, and he doesn't know how to be anything else.

 

The next day, Allura comes to see him. He watches her walk across the gangway with Coran and - Keith, he realises with a start. Keith came back for this. He sits up and hurries to the front of the cell.

"Keith!" he says. For a moment, he forgets that Keith isn't really his friend. He forgets what he did and who he is. He sees a familiar face and remembers only that he hasn't seen him in a while, and he's been meaning to ask him how things are going with the Blades, and if he wants to come back any time soon.

The three of them stop in front of his cell. Allura winces slightly, and she briefly holds a hand to her side before straightening up. Right. Broken ribs. He did that to her. And Keith won't look at him, which is weird. They've been friends for _years_ , what's the matter with him?

"Keith, you okay?" he asks.

Keith looks up at him - and fury burns in his eyes and twists in his face. He clenches a fist and slams it into the glass.

"Don't you dare act like you're him!" Keith yells.

"What? I'm not-- Keith--"

"You lied to me," he says. "You pretended to be him. I saved you! I trusted you! And you lied! Shiro is still out there. He's still lost somewhere and I left him there for - for months! And it's your fault!"

He steps back in the face of it, overcome by the force of Keith's anger. The words burst out of him like bullets, and they cut deep because they're all true: he _did_ pretend. He took Shiro's place and acted like him and tricked all his friends into trusting him. It's his fault the original is still lost without a trace.

Allura puts a hand on Keith's arm.

"Keith - stop," she says. "He didn't know. He thought he was Shiro, just like the rest of us did."

Keith pulls up short, his chest heaving. His face crumples. The anger evaporates, and now there's raw pain distorting his features. He looks like he might cry.

"You didn't know?" he asks, his voice tiny and shaking.

"No. I swear," he says. "I thought I was him the whole time."

He studies Keith's face. He knows him - even if that knowledge is borrowed from someone else. And so he knows that right now, Keith has no idea how to process this. He doesn't know how to categorise him, and it's ripping him apart. He's not Shiro, but is he a friend? An enemy? A traitor?

"Where is he?" Keith asks.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I--"

He stops. He doesn't know what to say. Sorry for what, exactly? Sorry for wanting some scrap of companionship in a world that never made sense? Sorry for accepting everything at face value and not figuring it out sooner?

Keith looks away, his expression tight and withdrawn. The anger has burnt itself out, but hurt and betrayal still dance in his eyes. Of course Keith wants the real Shiro back. He's not interested in a fake.

He needs to get used to that. It seems to be a popular response.

Allura stares at Keith's back for a moment - as if she wants to say something else to him - but instead she turns back to the cell and the glass.

"I spoke with Lotor," she says. "He is… somewhat familiar with Haggar's tactics. I have reason to believe that she might have used you to spy on us."

The blood turns to ice in his veins. Bad enough that she turned him against them; used him as a weapon to try and kill them. But spying?

"How?" he asks weakly. "How long?"

"She can look through another person's eyes," Allura tells him. "I am still trying to find out exactly how she achieves this, but… it could have been going on for weeks. Months, even."

He sinks down onto the bed and buries his face in his hand. _Months_. Spying for her. Watching them - and showing that witch everything. The pit in his belly gapes wide and he sinks into it - into the shame and disgust. He was never anything but Haggar's puppet.

"It might explain your headaches," Coran supplies helpfully.

"Right," he says weakly. The headaches. He can feel one now, edging into his temples, spurred on by stress. The lights don't help, either. It's all too much to take in. He looks over at Keith - because it's instinct, because they're friends, because he crashed back into their lives in rags and ruin and Keith was the one who pushed him to keep going, to keep trying with the Black Lion, to try to be the best version of himself again.

But Keith frowns at him, still utterly lost and confused, still not trusting - and his heart dies in his chest. Right. Keith isn't his friend. Keith is _Shiro's_ friend. Everything he said, all that encouragement… it was meant for Shiro.

He looks away. Down at the floor, and his own feet against the tiles.

_Never, ever forget that you're not him._

"I'm looking at ways to break Haggar's hold on you," Allura says. "I believe her research contains the information I need. In the meantime, there is a spell I can cast that will shield you from her reach."

"A spell?"

"Yes. I've never tried anything like it before, but it will be a good opportunity for me to practice the use of alchemy. If that's alright with you?"

He looks up at their faces. Allura: professional as ever, hands clasped together, a determined glint in her eyes. Coran: stern and yet compassionate, giving him an encouraging smile. And Keith: face fixed in a scowl, his emotions on lockdown, buried beneath the layers of anger. He recognises the signs. Keith withdraws when he doesn't know how to respond to people, and he's pulling away right now because he's confused and scared and hurt.

This whole thing might be easier if he couldn't read Keith like an open book, but Shiro's memories of him are pretty comprehensive. They've known each other for years. There's no escaping how much Keith hates what's going on right now.

He turns away from him, and nods to Allura.

"Alright, it's worth a shot," he says.

Allura begins the spell, which involves drawing an alchemy circle that completely surrounds the cell in which he's standing. She pulls out a strange wand that glows blue against the darkness outside the chamber, and then consults a data tablet and begins tracing lines on the floor.

He stands up and watches her progress as she moves around the walkway that encircles his cell, just on the other side of the glass. The wand leaves glowing lines of light on the floor as she traces out two concentric circles. She goes back around and fills in the gap between them with strange symbols and runes.

Keith and Coran stand back to observe her progress. Keith glances at the cell, sometimes - but his gaze never lingers.

Still processing, then. He wonders how long it will take.

Finally, Allura straightens up and eyes her handiwork.

"That seems about right," she says. "I need to activate it. Step back, please."

He follows her instructions and retreats to the centre of the room, as far as possible from the marks of the alchemy circle. Allura raises her hands and frowns in concentration.

Energy builds in her palms, and she kneels down and presses her hands to the activation points on the circle. The lines blaze bright in response. A wall of white-blue light shoots up from the circle - like a forcefield, except the power ripples down it like a waterfall. It curves over and above him and forms a dome that encloses the glass chamber and the platform on which it stands. The dome of light pulses and flickers, and he feels the distinctive tingle of quintessence. Then the light fades and dims - but he has no doubt the dome is still there, protecting him from Haggar's influence.

Hopefully.

Allura stands up. Her eyes flicker over the fading lines of the circle before she looks up to meet his gaze.

"This should shield you until I can find a more permanent solution," she says. "Unfortunately, for the time being you'll have to remain in this cell."

He nods. Figures. He wonders how relieved they all are to have this excuse to keep him locked up. The thought is ugly and uncharitable, and he hates himself for thinking it. But still. Maybe they're all secretly pleased to have a legitimate reason to lock him in the basement and forget about him.

"How will I know if it's working?" he asks.

Allura glances at Coran, who gives the tiniest of shrugs.

"We'll just have to wait and see," she says.

"Right."

"Do you need anything, one-B?" Coran asks.

He shakes his head. "No. It's fine."

They turn to leave, and he thinks of something.

"Wait," he says. He steps up to the glass. Coran fully turns back to meet his gaze; Allura half-turns, but her eyes are soft with sympathy as she looks at him. Keith hangs back, his face still unreadable and withdrawn.

"Did you find out what happened to the real Shiro?" he asks.

"We have some leads," Allura says. "The information you provided was very helpful."

He nods. And he makes a decision, somewhere deep in his soul. It's not quite 'throw yourself out the airlock', but… they need Shiro far more than they need him.

"You should concentrate on getting him back." He looks Allura dead in the eye and fights to keep his expression neutral and composed. "That's more important than what happens to me."

They all look at him. And suddenly he's just _exhausted_ with it - with the whole parade. He can't be bothered to stand there and try and puzzle out the meaning behind their expressions. He can't be bothered to play guessing games with every word and glance. He doesn't care anymore. They don't want him. They want the other guy. He's a waste of oxygen and space.

Allura turns fully to face him. "We will find a way to help you," she says.

"Why?" he demands. "What's the point?"

"You could leave this room, for one thing," Coran says, but the words ring hollow.

"So? It's not like I can stay on the ship," he says. "None of you want me here."

"That's not true," Allura tells him, but his eyes stray to Keith, still tight-lipped and silent in the background.

He aches down to his soul, and the pit in his chest threatens to become a bottomless abyss, and they're all just pretending anyway and he's sick of it.

"We will look for Shiro as a matter of urgency." Allura takes a step towards the glass - towards him. "But you deserve our help too."

"You don't have to pretend to care about me."

"I'm not pretending."

But he can't believe it. He won't. There's an overabundance of reasons for her to hate him - for them _all_ to hate him - and not one single reason he can think of for them to like him. Or even tolerate him.

"You are," he says - and he tries not to yell but the words break free of his control, and he can't keep the anger or the bitterness out of his voice. "You want the real Shiro! So stop acting like I matter when I don't! I'm just a broken copy and as soon as you get Shiro back, you'll kick me out!"

"No one is going to--" Coran says. But the roaring in his ears drowns it out and he's just angry and scared and exhausted and--

"Shut up! Stop! Stop lying!" He beats his fists on the glass, and Coran stops short - pulls up - and his face falls.

"Stop acting like I'm one of you when I'm not!" he yells. "I'm not your friend! I'm just a cheap fake! And when you get your real friend back there'll be no room for me. And you all know it."

They say nothing. The silence stretches out around him like a cloud.

"Just leave me alone," he says. He's too tired and heartsick for anything else.

"Shiro--" Allura begins. And that name punches clean through him like a spear, because it's not his and it never will be.

"I said leave me alone!"

It comes out louder than he intended, but the words hang heavy with the weight of every emotion he's pushed down over the last few weeks. Allura's face falls. She nods briefly, and then silently turns away.

He watches them walk away from him. Keith looks back; a brief glance over his shoulder at the prison cell bathed in harsh, unforgiving light. Sorrow clouds his eyes, and he looks like he might say something - but he doesn't. None of them do. They get into the elevator in silence, and rise up into the gloom.

And it's what he wanted. He told them to go - to leave him be. He asked to be alone.

But he hates it. It rips at his heart and crushes his chest and he _hates_ it. He wishes they'd all come back.

But they're not his friends. And they never will be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's read and commented so far - your kind words have really helped me keep going with this. it's a heavy story to write but it feels important, and i'm determined to finish it. so. onwards through The Trial.


	4. read between my lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this keeps getting longer, so i have divided the chapters again and this is 4 of 5. one more chapter and this should be done. thank you to everyone who read and commented, and please feel free to come and scream at me on tumblr (@smolsarcasticraspberry) about all the angst!
> 
> also i'm posting this at 2.30am so i hope it makes sense oops.

Coran comes to see him again the next day, bearing a tray of food.

"Hunk made your favourite," he says, by way of explanation.

The tray does, admittedly, look good. Coran pushes it through the slot - and then produces a compact folding chair from somewhere about his person and makes a show of unfolding it and setting it up, just outside the glass.

He stares at Coran and the chair.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"My grandfather was a very wise man," Coran says. "And he told me once that sometimes people will push you away to see if you'll come back. And sometimes the people screaming loudest to be left alone are the one's most in need of company."

He glances from Coran to the food tray, and back again.

"You don't have to sit with me out of pity," he mutters. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't."

"It's not pity," Coran says airily. "Truth be told, I came to pick your brain."

"Why? There's nothing useful in there." He gets up and carries the tray over to the table - and realises, belatedly, that Coran set up his chair right next to the table, on the other side of the glass. On purpose.

He sits down. If he squints, and ignores the cell's clear walls, he can almost pretend he's sitting down to eat with Coran. Having a nice friendly chat over food goo and water pouches.

Almost.

"On the contrary, one-B," Coran says. "You know Keith better than anyone. And now that he's back with us, he's very single-minded in his determination to find the original Shiro. I'm a little worried that he'll burn himself out."

He grimaces. That sounds about right, unfortunately.

"Keith doesn't deal with loss very well," he says. "And he gets stuck inside his own head a lot. He feels better when he's doing something, even if it's not productive. But you might have to tie him down and force him to eat, otherwise he'll forget."

"He blames himself for what happened."

"Pretty sure he blames _me_."

"No," Coran murmurs. "He took it out on you. But he blames himself for not noticing sooner. Just like Allura does."

He sighs. He picks up the spork and pokes idly at the food goo.

"Lance will be out of the cryopod soon," Coran goes on.

His eyes shoot up. It's the best news he's had in days.

"He's alright?"

"Oh yes. Fit as a fiddle!" Coran declares. "None the worse for the wear."

"That's good. That's… that's really good."

He doesn't know what else to say. The memory of Lance's terrified eyes and the burn marks on his neck still haunts him. It probably always will.

"Just between you and me, I'm a little worried about him and Keith being cooped up on the Castle together," Coran says. "You know how those two are always butting heads. They'll be fighting like angry klanmurls before the day is out!"

He huffs out the tiniest scrap of a laugh.

"Good luck with that," he mutters. A twisted, rebellious glee creeps over him. Keith and Lance's constant bickering isn't his problem anymore. He's not the leader. He doesn't have to deal with it. File under: not my circus, not my clown car.

"I'll probably just make them do chores together if they get out of hand," Coran goes on. "Nothing like a bit of teamwork to force people to cooperate!"

He grimaces, and picks up the water pouch. He can clearly picture the swathe of destruction _that_ particular team-up will carve across the Castle of Lions.

"It won't work," he says. "Lance invented a rivalry with Keith because he's insecure. He thinks everyone likes Keith more than him, so he turns everything into a competition. And then Keith gets hostile because he thinks Lance hates him."

"Oh, I'm sure they can put aside their differences long enough to scrub out the Lion hangars!" Coran says.

He shakes his head, and waves his spork in Coran's general direction.

"They can't. They really can't," he says. "You need to split them up. Find something Lance is good at, _tell him_ he's good at it, and then tell him that's why you want him to do it. He'll forget all about Keith if he thinks he's the best at something."

"Won't Keith get upset?"

"Keith doesn't care," he says. "He doesn't want to beat Lance, he just wants them to get along. But Keith will always tell Lance when he messes up, and Lance hates it. So put Lance on a task that he excels at, and Lance will feel good about himself, and Keith won't have any reason to make trouble. Problem solved."

"That's a rather ingenious solution, one-B," Coran says. He sounds genuinely impressed.

"It's mostly trial and error." He shrugs. "I had to do a lot of cadet-wrangling at the Garrison. You pick up a few tricks."

"Well, I shall certainly bear that in mind when Lance wakes up," Coran says. "Perhaps we might get some peace and quiet around the Castle after all!"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Coran beams at him, and he manages a half-smile in return. Coran stands up, and deftly folds the chair back into its compact form and vanishes it into some mysterious pocket on his jacket.

"Well, I shall leave you to it," he declares. "Thank you for your insights, one-B. Most informative."

"Anytime."

He tries to ignore the hollow feeling that settles in his chest. It feels wrong, somehow, to offer Coran advice. How much of that insight came from his own first-hand experience working with Keith and Lance? And how much is information stolen from the real Shiro? He frowns at the plate of food goo in front of him. He may never know how much of himself is truly _his_ , and how much is simply the reconstituted scraps of another person's life.

"Oh, one more thing."

Coran's voice makes him look up. The man stands in front of the cell door, hands tucked behind his back.

"I thought you might like to know that Hunk and Pidge have made some progress on your arm," Coran says. "They're on a mission right now to the Irtak system to raid a Galra base for some spare parts. So you might be able to get your prosthetic back in a few days!"

His hand moves reflexively to the stump of his right arm.

"That's - that's great, Coran," he says. "Uh. Thanks. I - can you tell them I really appreciate it?"

"Sure thing, one-B," he says.

"And thank Hunk for the food."

Coran smiles. "I'll pass it along."

He watches Coran's retreating back, and feels lighter than he has in weeks.

Hope is a dangerous thing, he tells himself. But it's a relief to have at least one person on the Castle who still thinks he's worth talking to.

 

The rest of the day passes without drama, and as the immediate fear of violent retribution ebbs away, a slow kind of boredom creeps in to take its place. He has nothing to do except wallow in self-pity, and there's only so long he can keep that up before it gets exhausting.

One of the data tablets has a selection of books preloaded onto it, along with a programme Pidge made to translate them into English. Most of them are books on history or culture, but there's also a handful of novels with bright, garish covers. One of them looks like the Altean equivalent of a trashy romance.

Now, the mature and sensible thing to do at this point would be to read one of the history books. That's the kind of information a leader needs. But he's not the leader. Not anymore.

The knowledge drags a claw over the ragged edges of his heart, but at the same time, it's oddly liberating. He doesn't have to worry about that stuff anymore. By the time all this is over, he'll be lucky to even have a room on the Castle, let alone a role in the war. So who fucking cares?

He starts reading the trashy romance novel.

The heroine, it seems, is caught in a sprawling and sensuous dilemma, and is trying to choose between several gorgeous men whose physical attributes are described in loving detail. The text is accompanied by holographic illustrations, mostly of the men in question wearing roguish expressions and not much else. Judging by the first chapter, the heroine's solution to her fickle and indecisive heart is to sleep with all of the beefcakes. Not necessarily one at a time, either.

He should show this book to Lance. He'd probably catch fire.

The illustrations are certainly a delightful addition to the experience. But he gets the feeling actual Shiro would be equally interested in the pictures of the heroine - especially the one's where she is accidentally caught déshabillé.

It's odd. He has memories of crushes on girls, but they leave him with a feeling of cold detachment. In hindsight, he can't see the appeal. Whereas the recollection of Shiro's first boyfriend still fills him with a flood of warmth. And yet it feels invasive at the same time - like spying on someone's private life. There's no clear way out of it, either. He's stuck with the memories - and the constant feeling that he's reading someone else's diary.

He doesn't know how to fix it. He goes back to the novel instead.

 

Keith comes to see him in the evening, carrying a food tray and looking incredibly awkward. He stands up and watches him approach the cell and slide the tray through the door.

"Thanks," he says carefully. He picks up a water pouch from the tray and stands in front of the glass. He's not sure what he's waiting for. Keith stands there, arms folded, and scrutinises his face.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Keith says, eventually.

He shrugs. "It's okay. I deserved it."

"No. You didn't. I was just-- I don't know."

The silence stretches out. He searches for something to say, and comes up blank.

"I thought we had Shiro back," Keith says, and the words land like knives in his flesh. He thought they had Shiro back, too. But he's not the version of Shiro they want.

"I get it," he says. "You miss him."

Keith looks up at him, and he glimpses the hurricane of emotions behind his eyes. There's a lot going on in that head of his. He wonders how long it will take Keith to sort it all out.

"You're different than him," Keith says.

"Yeah. I'm different."

He lets Keith get the measure of him, and says nothing. Eventually, Keith nods, but his eyes remain guarded. Still. It's progress.

"How's life with the Blades?" he asks, because the silence is threatening to get uncomfortable.

"Oh. Yeah. It's good." Keith looks down and around, which means he doesn't want to be here much longer.

"We're going on a mission to Petrix," he goes on. "We found a secret lab there. Allura wants to check it out. You know. For Haggar's research."

He nods. "Sounds like a good plan."

"I'm going to. Uh." Keith gestures vaguely at the elevator behind him. "I need to…"

"Sure. Don't let me keep you."

"Right."

He watches Keith leave; notes the way he hangs back at the elevator doors, and the way he glances over his shoulder as if he might say something more.

He wants Keith as a friend. More than anyone else - more than the rest of them - that feels important. Maybe because Keith is in so many of his stolen memories. Maybe because Keith was the one who rescued him and brought him back onboard and sat with him as he tried to put the fractured pieces of himself back together. For whatever reason, it matters that Keith still wants to talk to him - however awkwardly and briefly.

Two people. That's two people who don't hate him. It's not much, but it's a start.

 

For the next few days, he sees no one but Coran. He spends a lot of time reading the trashy romance novel and mooching around the cell. Coran brings him food, and talks to him over the comms every few hours, which is how he knows that Lance is finally up and about, and the work on the Galra prosthetic is coming along nicely, and Allura is planning a trip to the Lir Cluster, and Keith is away on a mission to a planet call Kryzim. He wonders if Coran wants him to feel like he's part of the team again, or if it's just gossip.

No one else comes to see him. The rest of the team stays away; no doubt busy doing their own thing.

Perhaps they're all just really intent on rescuing the real Shiro.

The ache in his chest comes back; the cavernous hole that threatens to swallow him at every turn. He tries to push it down and ignore it. He has no right to expect visitors, after all. He needs to get used to being on his own.

He starts to feel forgotten. Set adrift in this tiny cell, floating in the darkness. Sometimes, he lies on his bunk and imagines the blackness outside the room is the void of space. He populates it with imaginary stars and pictures himself drifting away into nothing, trapped in this glowing capsule, sailing on forever into the unknown.

This will be his fate, he realises. Loneliness and isolation. If he gets to live at all.

 

Then, on the third day, Lance comes to visit him.

He spots him riding down in the elevator and stands in a hurry - so fast that he drops the data tab and trips over his own feet. He watches Lance step out onto the gangway and walk towards him, and he wants to say something. Call out his name; ask how he is. But he can't breathe. His chest tightens.

Because Lance has a scar on his neck: big and ugly and swollen. In the shape of a hand.

The smell of burning flesh comes back to him, suddenly, and he flinches back from the glass and turns aside. Lance clearly isn't here to make friends. He's not here to offer forgiveness.

How is this going to go? 'I never want to see you again' is a strong contender. 'The others might be okay with this, but I'm not' is right up there as a possibility. Or maybe Lance is just here for the satisfaction of seeing him locked up and left to rot.

He hears Lance's footsteps come to a halt right outside the cell, and forces himself to turn around. Better to face this head on and get it over with.

Lance stands there with his hands in his pockets, blue eyes keen and bright, looking surprisingly cheerful for someone who just came out of a cryopod.

"Hey," Lance says.

He stares at Lance through the clear wall that separates them. How relieved is Lance, right now, to have this barrier between them?

"Hey," he says. "What are you doing here?"

Lance shrugs. "Coran said you were asking about me, so here I am. Good as new!"

He says nothing. His eyes dart to the horrible scar seared into Lance's neck. Lance spots the direction of his gaze, and pulls down his collar.

"Pretty cool, right?" he says. "Now I have a badass scar!"

"That's not cool." Horror creeps into his voice. "I could have killed you!"

"Yeah, but that was Haggar," Lance says. "I mean… you don't really want me to die, right?"

He meets Lance's gaze - and there's worry in his expression. There's some lingering fear in his eyes, hidden beneath the bravado and cheer.

"No! Of course not!" he says.

Lance nods. And he's quieter than he's ever been, in all the months they've known each other. He's never seen Lance like this: pulled back inside himself, thoughtful and withdrawn. He did that to him.

"Can I… ask you one thing?" Lance says.

He nods.

"Did you… attack me like that because… you don't like me?"

"What? No!" he exclaims. "Lance… come on…"

He stares at him. Lance stares right back, his face tense.

"Because I know you think I'm annoying," Lance ploughs on. "So when Haggar made you attack us, did you go after me because you hate me? I mean, half the time you look like you want to strangle me anyway, so I just thought…"

"Lance - stop," he says. "Stop. That's not… I don't want to kill you. Ever. That's not what happened."

Lance looks down and scuffs his feet on the floor.

"So you don't hate me?"

"No," he says. He watches Lance's face relax, and frowns. "Is this seriously the biggest thing you're worried about right now?"

"Not the _biggest_ thing," Lance says. "Just one thing on the list."

He stares at him. And it takes him a moment to register the implications of it: _Lance cares what he thinks_. He attacked them and betrayed them and spied on them… and Lance still wants his approval.

He wonders what to make of it all.

Before he can say anything else, the elevator whirrs into life and starts its descent into the darkness. He watches the speck of light glide down towards the walkway.

"That's Pidge and Hunk," Lance says. "They finished fixing your arm."

"Oh," he says, for want of anything better. "I can have it back?"

"Yeah, they took it apart and fixed it or something. I actually helped."

"Really."

"And I wanted to take the arm and hold it up to my neck and take some badass selfies, but Hunk wouldn't let me."

He squints at Lance through the glass. This attitude is categorically _not_ what he was expecting.

"Lance… this is a serious situation," he says. "A member of your team was compromised. You nearly got taken out because you froze. You should have--"

He stops in the face of Lance's perplexed expression.

"You think I should have attacked you?" Lance asks.

His eyes stray back to that hideous scar. "Yeah. Probably."

"But we're friends."

He looks up at Lance's face, all open and trusting, and tries to align his thought processes to Lance's unique flavour of logic. To Lance, having a handprint burned into his neck like a brand is a fair price to pay for not attacking a friend. And he realises, with a sinking feeling, that Lance would have let him choke him to death rather than retaliate.

 _Christ_. How has this boy _survived_? He makes a note to sit him down and explain to him the nature of hard choices, of 'kill or be killed', of the steep price of being a hero… and then stops. That's not his place. Not anymore. Lance and his overly trusting nature is the other Shiro's problem.

"You're fucking weird, kid," he says instead.

Lance's mouth drops open. "I knew it! I knew Shiro knew swear words!"

"Oh, Lord…"

"If you say fuck, does this mean I can say fuck too?"

"Absolutely not."

Thankfully, the arrival of Hunk and Pidge spares him any further discussion of Lance's colourful vocabulary. The two nerds arrive together - Hunk carrying the Galra prosthetic carefully in both hands.

"Hey, uh - not Shiro," Hunk says. "We haven't met. I'm Hunk, I pilot the Yellow Lion."

"Hunk… I know who you are," he says. He can feel another headache coming on, although this one probably isn't Haggar-related.

"Oh right. Yeah. I just. Yeah." Hunk trails off, looking sheepish.

"Come on, Hunk," Pidge says. "He's still Shiro."

He wants to tell her he's not, and she shouldn't think of him that way. But she smiles at him, and… he misses that. Being smiled at. Talking to other people. So he doesn't correct her. She'll figure it out sooner or later - especially when the original shows up and reclaims his role in their lives.

For now, she moves to the cell door and taps at the keypad. The door slides open.

He retreats on instinct. The last time they were all in a room together, he attacked them - sent Pidge flying, knocked Hunk clean out, and Lance… he shudders. They don't seem at all wary. He wants to scream at them to be more cautious; to tie him up before they try anything. How can they be this trusting after everything?

"Sit down," Pidge says, as casual as you like. She places a box of gear on the bed, and he sits beside it without protest, because the alternative is starting a whole discussion about how untrustworthy and dangerous he is, and he doesn't have the emotional energy for that.

"Alright, lemme see that arm," Hunk says. He passes the prosthetic to Pidge and reaches out to run his hands over the stump.

He stares at it - at Hunk's hands on his skin, checking over his scars. He hasn't been touched in days.

"We went through all the code in your arm," Pidge explains, as Hunk picks up the prosthetic again and examines the socket. "I isolated an algorithm that contained mostly command codes, so we were able to remove it."

"Yeah, and there was also this one data line built into the hardware that was only activated remotely," Hunk says. "So I took that out, and then we had to recalibrate it, but it should work just fine."

He looks from their earnest and eager faces, to the prosthetic arm now resting once again in Hunk's hands.

"This sounds like a lot of work," he says.

"That's okay, it's good to have a project," Hunk says jovially. "Besides, we would have had to do it anyway when Shiro gets back. You know, for his arm and stuff."

He looks down at the floor, and tries to tell himself that Hunk didn't mean it to sound like that - like all this effort is actually for the _real_ Shiro, their actual friend who they care about, and not for him. The cynical core of him points out that it only makes sense for them to treat him like a guinea pig. A test run, to get the prosthetic right, so they can apply the same process to Shiro's arm when they find him and save him.

But it stings, in a way he wasn't quite prepared for. Because for a brief moment, it felt like they did it for _him_ \- and he remembered what it was like to have people care about him, and try to help him - and in a few words Hunk abruptly ripped it out from under him.

"You guys should be careful," he mutters. "You don't know what will happen when I hook this thing up."

"What, you don't trust the nerd squad?" Pidge asks. He glances up to find her grinning at him.

"Relax," she goes on. "We fixed it. There's no risk."

"Yeah, besides," Lance adds, "Allura did that weird magic circle thing? So Haggar can't reach you in here."

He takes in their eager, honest faces, and sighs.

"Alright. Hook me up."

He holds out the stump of his right arm. Hunk pushes up his sleeve and slides the prosthetic into place.

The metal hums faintly, and then the socket tightens around his stump and the nerve fibres connect to his skin. Pain shoots up into his shoulder and neck - but it's dull and familiar. It happens every time he reattaches the prosthetic. There's a moment of disconnect as his brain sorts out the sudden rush of nerve signals, and then he lifts the metal arm and wiggles the fingers.

"Good as new," he says.

"How does it feel?" Hunk asks.

"It feels great. You guys did an amazing job."

Pidge hums approvingly. She retrieves a slim metal rod from her box of mysterious tools and taps it against the prosthetic.

"You feel that?" she asks. "That? That?"

She touches the arm in different places, and he nods as she progresses down from above the elbow to the wrist.

"It feels the same as before," he tells her.

She grins, and nudges her glasses up her nose. "What did you expect? This is a Team Punk special, Shiro. Have a little faith."

He smiles back at her before he can stop himself. And, you know… maybe they're all too trusting, and maybe they'll regret it, and maybe it's not even real… but right now it feels good to sit with them and pretend that they're all friends.

Hunk hooks up a sensor to the arm and starts taking readings, whilst Pidge packs away her tools.

"Do you want us to bring you anything?" she asks. "You can have the Gameflux if you want. Lance plays it too much anyway."

"Hey!" Lance exclaims.

"Face it, Lance, you're never gonna beat the final boss," Hunk says, without looking up from his instruments. "Let Shiro Number Two have a go at it."

"It's okay," he says, because Lance looks more aggrieved by this suggestion than by anything else that's happened so far. "I've got a book to read."

"Is it one of those romance novels Shiro's always pretending not to read?" Hunk asks.

He blinks. Maybe he has more in common with the original Shiro than he thought.

"…maybe."

"I can find you some more if you want," Pidge offers. "Plus I can update the translation programme I built with some improved algorithms to get rid of some of the glitches."

"No, it's okay. You guys don't have to do anything for me."

They all look at him, and he searches their faces for any trace of pity. That's what they're feeling, isn't it? Pity the poor useless clone, stuck here in the glass tube like a lab experiment.

"You know, we wanted to come see you before," Hunk says. "But Coran said you might not want visitors while you're in prison. Well. Not _prison_ , really, but… He said we weren't allowed to come and gawk at you."

Pidge elbows Hunk in the arm and gives him a glare.

"We didn't want you to feel like an attraction in a zoo," she clarifies. "Plus, Allura said you wanted some alone time."

He stares at them, dimly aware that his mouth has dropped open. The idea that their prolonged absence might have been motivated by consideration for his feelings hadn't even occurred to him. The easy, cynical conclusion was, of course, that they didn't care about him and had stayed away out of fear or disgust.

He's not sure how to process this new revelation. The distant hope that they might want to be friends with him once all this is over glimmers in his mind, like the first star of the evening shyly winking into life in the night sky. Maybe they do care.

But the cynic in him points out that it can't last. He subsides, and looks at the floor. If he lets himself hope - if he gets invested - the inevitable separation is going to be doubly cruel. Better to keep his distance.

"It's okay," he says. "You guys should focus on getting the real Shiro back. I don't need anything."

The three of them exchange glances. He looks away from them and studies his own hands.

"Well… let us know if you change your mind," Pidge says.

"Thanks."

It's hard for them, he thinks, as they pack up their things and exit the cell. He is - _was_ \- their leader. The responsible one on the team. They're used to him having all the answers. And now everything is messed up and confusing, and they don't know how to treat him, or how to react to the revelation that he's a clone and an imposter. Hunk's awkwardness is the most obvious sign of it, but he sees it in Lance and Pidge, too: the uncertainty in their eyes, the reserve in their faces; the way they hesitate before they speak.

None of them know how to deal with it. Hell - _he_ doesn't know how to deal with it, either.

He goes back to the trashy romance novel instead.

 

He's grateful, at least, to have his prosthetic back. It makes daily tasks a hell of a lot easier - but at the same time, it's odd to have it there on his body again. He used that arm to attack his teammates and rip his own life apart from the inside out.

It's just a tool, he reminds himself. Just an object. But that night, he has nightmares of it crawling towards him over the floor, and the fingers wrapping around his neck and burning the life out of him…

He wakes up sweating and gasping for breath, and tries to tell himself it's safe now, he doesn't need to worry about it… but he gets the feeling he'll dream about these horrors for years to come.

 

The next day, Allura comes to see him.

She comes alone, bearing a chest full of alchemical tools and a determined expression. She stops outside the cell door.

"I think I have found a way to undo Haggar's control over you," she tells him. "I went through much of her research, and I believe I have identified the counter-spell to the one she uses to manipulate you. I would like to try it, if that's alright."

She stands and waits for his answer. He glances from her face to the box of arcane equipment held between her hands. Another spell. Well… it can't hurt.

"Sure," he says. "It's worth a shot."

"Wonderful." Her smile is tight, and he catches the wisp of anxiety in her eyes before she steels her expression. So. She's not sure this will work. Duly noted.

Allura shifts the box to her hip and keys the code into the door lock so she can let herself into the cell. He stands awkwardly as she enters, unsure of what to do with himself, and watches her place the box on the table and withdraw an alchemy wand similar to the one she used to cast the protection spell around his prison.

"I need to draw a circle on the floor," she says. "Stand back, please."

He retreats the corner by the bed and observes her progress. She frowns in concentration and consults a tablet as she works her way around the circumference, inscribing various runes and symbols until the shape is complete: a double circle with five petal shapes spread at intervals around the rim, and a collection of arcane symbols that glow faintly blue against the white floor.

"Alright. I think that's it." She puts the tablet down and inspects her setup.

"Stand in the middle, please," she says. She gestures him over, and he obeys wordlessly. She grasps him gently by the arms, just above the elbows, and turns him until he's positioned to her satisfaction.

"Will this hurt?" he asks.

She looks from his face to the glowing runes, and back again.

"Honestly? I'm not sure," she says.

At least she's telling him the truth. He appreciates that.

"Don't stop," he tells her. "Even if it's painful. I want--"

He can't finish. He wants a lot of things that he doesn't dare put into words.

"You want the witch out of your head?" she asks.

He catches the sympathy in her eyes, and nods.

"I shall do my best," she says, and he nods again.

Allura stands back, outside the circle, and he takes a deep breath and braces himself for whatever magic might be coming next. Allura closes her eyes. Her forehead creases into a frown, and for a moment nothing happens - and then a white light appears at the tips of her fingers, and grows and spreads to her palms.

She lifts her arms and huffs out a breath, and the energy leaps from her hands to the alchemy circle in arcs of white lightening. The fresh, chill scent of quintessence fills the air, and his skin tingles like an electric shock. The circle hums and crackles and blazes bright - and then the energy jumps into him, from each of the five points of the circle. Magic courses through him, and he grits his teeth and grimaces as sparks dance across his skin and hair and the power thrums in his veins.

_\--KILL EVERYONE ON THE. KILL EVERYONE ON THE CASTLE OF. KILL THE CASTLE OF. LIONS. KILL. LIONS. TAKE OVER COMMAND OF LIONS OF CASTLE OF LIONS OF CASTLE OF. ERROR--_

With the quintessence comes pain - a sharp spike of it in his temples that runs away down his spine and makes his arms twitch and spasm reflexively. Words erupt into his consciousness, and a voice screams in his head to kill everyone, destroy everything, break everything…

_\--MISSION PARAMETERS INVALID. ERROR IN LINE X37LD4-8. ERROR IN LINEEEEeekfjdghdsf. ABORT MISkdjfkowiehg. ABOksdfjtet. ERRORERRORERRORER--_

He sinks to his knees, his head throbbing like it might explode, eyes squeezed shut against the agony in his body.

"Shiro?" Allura's voice comes from far away.

"Don't stop," he gasps. "It's working."

_\--WARNING. DETECTION IMMINENT. EVADE IMMEDIATELY. WARndkgitweit. WARndkfhytyeitw. ABORT CURRENT MISSION. RESET MISSION PARAMETERS. EVADE AND SURVIVE. ERROR IN LIisdjfkhwethweu--_

He doesn't have the strength to look up into Allura's face; not with her power pouring into him like this, and the words in his head like blaster fire. He clenches his fists as the pain increases, and he heaves in huge breaths and wills himself not to pass out.

A final surge of energy barrels through him, and he cries out as the pain in his head reaches a crescendo. It feels like knives being driven into his skull, and each knife carries words that he doesn't recognise, in a voice that isn't his.

_\--ERRORERRORERkdfjsdf. ABORkdfjthe. RESET MISksdfjg. RESET MISSION PARakdjghheg. ABORT. ERRORERRORERksdghadgdgf--_

_get out get out get out of my head get out get **OUT**_

The pain flares bright and strong and vanishes. He opens his eyes.

He's on his hands and knees in the middle of the alchemy circle, and as he blinks and gets his bearings, the lines on the floor fade and go dim. Allura kneels in front of him, her face a mask of concern, the power gone from her hands. She reaches for his shoulder.

"Shiro?"

His heart hammers in his chest, and he struggles for breath. His skin still tingles, and his fingers twitch as the energy discharges from his body in tiny white sparks. But the pain is gone. The terrifying voice is gone. His head feels… light.

"I'm alright," he says, his voice hoarse.

"Did I hurt you?" Allura asks. "I'm so sorry, I--"

"No, it's okay." He shakes his head. "It wasn't you. There was… the voice in my head came back. It was like it was trying to protect itself from being erased."

Her eyes light up. "It worked?"

"I think so."

She helps him stand on shaky legs, and he looks down at the vanishing alchemy circle. Whatever she did… something has changed. He feels different. It's almost as if… some unheeded background noise has suddenly ceased, and the sudden silence feels oddly refreshing, and he's just now realising how invasive and irritating the noise was.

"How do you feel?" Allura asks him.

"Better," he says. "Different. My head feels… I don't know. Lighter?"

"That's a good sign," she says. "Hopefully it means this worked and Haggar can no longer influence you."

"Yeah. Hopefully."

She helps him onto the bed and hands him a water pouch, and he sips it gratefully. She pulls up the chair and sits across from him, one leg crossed over the other, hands clasped in her lap.

"I would like you to stay in this cell for the time being," she says. "I want to deactivate the circle I placed around it, and then see if Haggar is able to connect with you at all. We will assess the situation over a number of days and see if there are any signs of Hagger reasserting control."

He ignores the heaviness in his heart and nods. It's not like he realistically expected to get out of this cell any time soon, anyway.

"Seems reasonable," he says.

"We know for sure that the alchemy circle shielded you from Haggar," Allura goes on. "Since she didn't act on any of the information you were given after it was set up."

Several puzzle pieces click into place. "You had Coran feed me intel," he says. "To see if she could still use me as a spy."

Allura nods. "I'm sorry. I know it's a little--"

"No, it's fine," he says quickly. Because it is. "It was smart. The right thing to do."

Allura meets his gaze, and he notes the determined glint in her eyes, and the composure of a leader and a fighter. And he knows she's not actually sorry. Because she did what needed to be done, for the good of the whole team, and however much it might have hurt her she'll never let that pain show.

"Once the alchemy circle is deactivated, you will be vulnerable to Haggar once more," she goes on. "Then we will see if this spell has worked. So you must tell me if your headaches return, or you hear the voice again."

He nods absently, and chews on his bottom lip. But he has to ask.

"What will you do if this _doesn't_ work?"

"I will keep trying," she says firmly.

"Princess… that's not a good use of your time."

"I will be the judge of that." It comes accompanied by her haughtiest Princess glare; the one that brooks no disagreement. And ordinarily he would let it go, but… he thinks of Lance and Hunk and Pidge, coming to visit him in his cell; and Keith and his anger and pain. And Coran, sitting on the other side of the glass, trying to pretend they're just having a nice meal together when the truth is so much sadder and lonelier than that. So he pushes on.

"I'm serious," he says. "What if this doesn't work? And you have to keep me inside an alchemy circle permanently?"

Some of the sternness drains from her face, and she opens her mouth as if to speak, but she says nothing.

"I know you've thought about it," he continues. "So what's the contingency plan?"

"You're getting ahead of yourself," she says. "Can you wait and see if this works before thinking about worst-case scenarios?"

"This isn't the worst-case scenario," he says. "Worst-case is I break free and murder everyone on this ship. I'm just being practical. You have Voltron, and the Coalition, and you still need to find the real Shiro. I'm not a priority. So how long will you keep trying before you decide there's nothing you can do for me?"

"We're not there yet. Not even close."

"And when we are?"

She looks, briefly, like she might give him another vague, meaningless answer. But then her face resolves into something more business-like, and she sits up straight in the chair and looks him dead in the eyes.

"I will move you off the ship," she says, matter-of-factly. "You will have to remain in custody, for your own safety as much as anyone else's. I will ask either the Rebels or the Blades to find a location where you can remain indefinitely - with protection of course - until we can find a way to undo Haggar's influence once and for all."

He takes it all in. It's sensible and well-thought-through, but he wouldn't expect anything less from Allura. In fact, it's an ideal solution. He just wishes it didn't break his heart so much to hear it spoken out loud.

 Maybe it's all moot, and Allura's latest spell will work just fine, and he won't have to spend the rest of his days locked up somewhere for fear of harming everyone around him. But even then, the future looms ominously ahead of him like an impenetrable wall. There's no place for him on the team. He lived a borrowed life, wearing another man's name and face, walking in another man's shoes, and there's no way he can keep that up once the actual Shiro returns.

"And what if it works?" he asks. "What will you do with me then?"

"I don't know," Allura says. "None of us have any experience dealing with something like this. We're just trying to figure it out as we go along."

He wonders if she genuinely doesn't know, or if this is obfuscation to hide an uncomfortable truth: that they have already decided to ask him to leave, and politely but firmly show him the door. There is only room for one Shiro on the team, and he's not it, so the best outcome he can hope for is being cut loose to find his way in the universe with a head-full of borrowed memories and no identity of his own.

He can't even blame any of them for it. Maybe it would be easier if he could be angry at them, but he can't find it in his heart to resent them for any of it.

Allura stands up, and carefully replaces the chair beside the table.

"I thought you might like to know that we have made some breakthroughs in finding the original Shiro," she says. "I think we may have a way to get him back."

"Oh. That… that's great."

His chest feels hollow. He wants to be happy, because he knows how much Shiro cares about his team and he knows how delighted he'll be to finally reunite with them. But once the real Shiro comes back… everything comes crashing down for him.

He doesn't have much time left, then. Maybe not even enough time to finish that trashy novel. The only question is whether he'll walk out of the Castle on his own steam, or be carried out sedated and in chains, destined for a life in a cage somewhere remote and out of harm's way.

"I will let you get some rest," Allura says. She picks up her chest of alchemy equipment and lets herself out of the cell.

He watches her carefully place the chest down, and then lay her hands on the floor near the cell wall. The alchemy circle blazes bright and clear for a moment, and then the symbols fade and disintegrate. The circle is inactive, and he finds himself bracing for… something.

Mercifully, his head remains clear.

"Let me know if you experience anything untoward," Allura says. "I will come to check on you when I can."

"Right. Thank you."

She picks up the chest again, and as she stands up she catches sight of his face. Her expression softens.

"You needn't look so glum," she tells him. "If everything goes to plan, you might be out of here in a quintant."

 He manages half a smile. He wonders what she means by 'out of here' - out of the cell? Or out of the ship and the team and their lives? He can't bring himself to ask.

"Yeah. You're right. Thank you, Princess."

She smiles at him, and turns to leave, and he watches her all the way to the elevator, lost in his own thoughts.

 

That night, before he sleeps, he sits at the table with one of the tablets and writes notes to everyone. Nothing elaborate, just… goodbyes. It feels important to leave something behind, and he doesn't know if he'll get the chance for a proper farewell with any of them. So he writes it down instead: half a dozen variations on 'goodbye and thank you'.

He makes them all personal, and talks only about things that he actually experienced with them, rather than borrowing from Shiro's extensive memories of their time together. He wants it to come from _him_.

He encrypts all the messages, labels them, and leaves them in a folder on the tablet where they'll be easy to find.

 

He lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling, and thinks about his time with the team, and all the memories that bring him joy. Sleep is a long time coming, and when it does, he dreams of drifting through an endless starry sky, lost and forgotten, with no place to go and nowhere to call home and not so much as a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: OG Shiro returns


	5. gather up my fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's what you've all been waiting for - the return of OG Shiro (everyone was waiting for that, right?)

For the next two days, an air of expectation hangs over the Castle, and a feeling of busyness ripples through the air. He senses it whenever anyone comes to bring his meals, or when Coran or the others talk to him over the comms.

His meals arrive at odd times, as if they are sending food down whenever they remember, in between other tasks. Coran still checks in on him, but their conversations are briefer than before, and there's always a lot of activity in the background when Coran speaks. Hunk and Pidge bustle past with armfuls of arcane equipment; or Lance tails after Allura with data tablets and a harried expression. He spots Keith a few times, deep in conversation with Kolivan and some other Blade members he doesn't recognise.

"Allura is preparing for the procedure that will rescue Shiro," Coran tells him on the second evening, when he brings down his dinner. "It's a lot of work and careful planning, so it's taken up most of our time, I'm afraid! But don't worry, we haven't forgotten about you."

He grimaces. They will soon enough, he thinks, but he keeps his peace.

"So you figured out where he is?" he asks.

Coran nods. "As best as we can tell, the energy from the final blast caused him to dematerialise. He was transformed into pure quintessence. Similar to how the Lion's teleportation power works, but he became stuck that way. His… spirit, or soul I suppose, is still in Voltron's spiritual plane, but his body became energy and failed to reform."

He fights back a shudder as he tries not to imagine what that must be like. Stuck in that strange liminal space, caught between life and death, wandering forever like a ghost… a shiver runs down his spine. Maybe being grown in a giant test tube isn't so bad after all.

"But you can get him back?" he asks. He's interested, in spite of himself. Call it morbid curiosity; like poking at a sore tooth.

"We think so, yes," Coran says. "Allura will use her connection with the Black Lion to reach into the void and find Shiro's spirit. She will then use her alchemy to enter that realm herself and bring him back to a physical form."

He watches the man's face as he describes it, and the way his brows pull together when he talks about Allura. He's worried.

"This sounds dangerous," he says.

"It is. For this to work, Allura must first deconstruct herself into pure energy. Once she has found Shiro, she will have to somehow reconstruct both of them, using an alchemical formula she has never tried before."

No wonder Coran is worried. The risk is huge. But it speaks to how important Shiro is to all of them that Allura would try something like this, and that Coran would let her.

"You must be worried," he says. "What if something goes wrong?"

Coran hesitates, and then his face falls into something more serious.

"To tell you the truth, one-B," he says, "I almost wish Allura wouldn't try it. But she holds herself responsible, you see. So she'll do anything in her power to rescue Shiro, no matter the cost. And that's what scares me."

He nods. What else can he do? He can imagine Allura all too clearly, laser-focused and determined, carrying the weight of the universe on her shoulders, refusing to take no for an answer. He wants to tell Coran it will all be fine, but the lie dies on his tongue. He doesn't know how any of this will turn out.

"Anyway, I must get back," Coran sighs. "When it's time, I'll hook up your vid screen to the hangar so you can see the ritual, if you like."

"Thanks," he says, although he's not sure he really wants to watch it.

Coran departs, back to the bustle and noise of the Castle, and leaves him alone in his cell with nothing but the darkness for company.

At least the headaches have subsided. His mind feels clear and light, and there's no return of the terrifying voice or the pain that seemed to crush his skull from the inside out. Haggar's influence has been broken, it seems. It's some small comfort as he lies awake that night, wondering what will happen when the real Shiro returns. At least he won't have to be locked in a cage. He can just wander off into the universe, never to be seen again.

 

Allura attempts the ritual the next day.

He watches from his cell, out of curiosity more than anything else. If it succeeds, it hastens the day of his departure. If it fails… who knows. He wonders if they'll resent him for it - for being the Shiro that got to survive, when the one they actually care about remains lost forever.

Coran's words gnaw away at him, and he can't help but think about how risky this is for Allura, and the possibility of her being lost to them all as well. Not that it's his place, but… he still cares. He can't help it. No matter what they think of him, he still views them as friends. The thought of losing any one of them makes his heart clench.

The alchemy circle for the ritual is set up in the Black Lion's hangar, and Coran has helpfully patched him into the security cameras so he can watch proceedings as they unfold. The circle is huge, and it glows pink even under the hangar's bright lights. Five points are marked on the edge of the circle, one of them directly in front of the Black Lion.

He steps up to the screen and studies the feed. The Paladins stand around the edges of the hangar, watching Allura make her final preparations. He makes note of Keith, lurking in the corner, clearly agitated and on-edge. Hunk and Pidge stand hunched over a bank of sensors and monitors, no doubt keeping an eye on proceedings.

As he watches, Allura steps up to Coran and they exchange a few words. The sound from the feed is too muffled to let him make out what they're saying, but judging by Coran's worried demeanour yesterday, it's something along the lines of 'be careful'. Allura nods, and lays a comforting hand on the old advisor's arm. Then she takes her place in the centre of the ring, and gestures everyone else to stand back.

Power pulses out of her in steady waves, and the screen shimmers slightly as the surge of quintessence interferes with the transmission. Allura kneels in the centre of the circle and presses her hands to the floor, and magic crackles out of her, dancing along the glowing lines and arching away towards the ceiling. The five points of the circle light up, one by one, and Allura seems to glow in the middle of them, the power pulsing in her like heartbeats, ebbing and flowing, until she shines as bright as a star.

And then she vanishes, in a flash of white light. He gasps, in spite of himself; because it looks so much like the vision Black showed him, of her Paladin disappearing in a burst of quintessence, leaving nothing in his wake but an empty chair.

His eyes dart to Coran, who stands behind Hunk and Pidge and stares at the monitors. Lance paces back and forth on the other side of the room. Even through the screen, he can sense the tension.

Now they wait. It's all they can do.

He finds himself unable to look away from the video feed, despite having nothing to contribute to proceedings. He walks around his cell and tries to distract himself, but his eyes stray again and again to the screen, and the empty alchemical circle still humming with power. Allura must be in that astral plane by now, hunting for Shiro, trying to find him in the endless void…

The minutes drag on, and everyone becomes restless. Even without words, he can see it unfolding on screen: Coran fretting and poking at the monitors, Hunk and Pidge in frantic conversation as they try to figure out if this is normal, if it's supposed to take this long. None of them know. They're all flying blind, and it's entirely in Allura's hands. Either she comes back or she doesn't, but all any of them can do is stand aside and wait.

It takes an hour, by which time Lance has climbed the Black Lion and perched himself on her head, and Keith has yelled at three people, and Pidge has dozed off in her chair. A monitor beeps, prompting a flurry of activity from Hunk and Coran and causing Pidge to startle awake and fall onto the floor. Lance hops and slides down to join them, and even Keith crosses the room to look at the equipment.

The lines of the circle grow brighter, and ripples of energy run through the symbols. A ball of white light starts to form in the centre of the circle.

As muffled as it is, he still hears the sounds of everyone's excitement through the feed. And something else: a low, mechanical purr that rumbles through him. It's the Lion, he realises. She senses something. Her eyes flash yellow as the light in the circle gets brighter and bigger, taking on forms that seem to draw in energy from the very air and shape it, mould it, form it into something familiar.

The Lion tilts back her head and roars, her eyes like twin yellow suns. Lightening crackles across the alchemy circle, and the light in the centre moves and shifts and grows solid and takes form.

Two forms. Two figures, in fact. Allura, knelt on the floor, her hands on the shoulders of a second figure, holding him upright.

Shiro. It's Shiro.

The light shimmers around them and then ebbs away, and they kneel in the centre of the circle together, solid and real and alive.

He lets out a breath and sags onto the chair. Relief floods his veins, but it comes with a side helping of anxiety. He has no place, now. Admittedly, he didn't have much of a place before either, but now it feels more definite. They have the real Shiro back, finally. He can't measure up to that.

He looks back up at the screen in time to see them all rush towards Shiro, and even without words he picks up on their delight. He gets up and switches off the feed. He doesn't want to see how overjoyed they are, and how much Shiro means to them, and the outpouring of happiness over his return. He stands in his cell and stares at the blank screen and feels more alone than ever.

 

Hours pass, and he lies on the bed and thinks about what must be going on in the rest of Castle right now. He tries to imagine the timeline of events, and where exactly in the excited parade of reunions and stories he fits in.

Somewhere up there, the real Shiro is reuniting with his friends. People are probably crying. He's getting hugs and back-pats and affection. At some point, they will tell him what happened while he was gone, and explain that he now has a clone in the basement. A clone who stole his life, spied on his team, and attacked his friends.

He wonders what Shiro will make of it, and if he'll come down here to stare through the glass and pass judgement.

This is how it all ends, he realises. This is the final chapter. The point where they tell him he has to leave, that he's just a fake and a spare and he has no place here. Unneeded, unwanted. The broken clone.

His goodbyes are all written. Maybe they'll let him pack a few things before they show him the door. He lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling and waits.

 

And then the elevator hums, up near the cavernous ceiling. He stands up, heart in his mouth, a sick feeling in his stomach, and watches the lift descend.

It's full of people. They all came to see this, he realises. Allura and Coran - well, he expected that. Keith, too, which he appreciates. But also Pidge and Hunk and Lance, either out of solidarity or curiosity.

And Shiro. Standing in the middle of the group. Smiling, and turning to say something to Coran, and Keith looking at him in fond relief. All of them, in fact - clustered around him, as close as they can get, eyes bright with happiness.

He watches them all come down, his gaze fixed on the man whose life he stole, arriving to reclaim it. It's the face he expected to see when he looked in the mirror all these months. The face that was never really his.

They cross the gangway together, Shiro in the lead. He retreats away from the glass and waits for them.

The anger rises up within him - anger and resentment, roiling inside him like ugly clouds. Of course they all love Shiro. Of course they're all happy. He never expected anything less, but seeing it in front of him is still a punch in the gut. He folds his arms and sinks back, into the cell and into himself, sullen and petty and miserable, and glares at Shiro. He doesn't care that it's unreasonable or petulant, because he's just _tired_ of all of it, and sick of pretending, and he just wants to get the whole thing over with.

They stop in front of his cell, the whole crowd of them together, and he stares out at them.

Shiro steps forward, towards the door, and watches him through the glass. His face is a picture of perplexed curiosity.

"Huh," he says.

He looks away from him and stares at the floor. The feeling of being inspected washes over him, and he scowls and says nothing. What's there to say?

"Open the door," Shiro says, quietly.

He looks up to see Shiro turning to Allura. She gives him an uncertain look.

"It might not be safe…" she says.

"It's okay," Shiro reassures her. "Open the door."

She meets Shiro's gaze for a moment, and then turns to the keypad and types in the code for the cell.

The door slides open, and he watches Shiro step inside.

He has nothing to say. He feels hollow. Words bounce around inside his head, but none of them seem appropriate. What do you say to the man you were made to replace? Shiro still looks at him curiously, as if trying to figure out a difficult puzzle, his brows creased slightly as he takes in the duplicate standing in front of him.

He says nothing. He lets the silence echo around them.

"You know the funny thing is… this is not actually the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me," Shiro says eventually.

"You have been through some weird shit," he concedes.

A pause, while Shiro considers him some more.

"You're not going to attack me, are you?" Shiro asks.

"Well, if you keep staring at me I might punch you in the face." It's surly and mean and uncalled for, but he can't help it. He wants this done with. Cut to the chase and give him his marching orders. This is all building up to an awkward 'look, you can't stay here' conversation and he's just _done_ with the whole thing.

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. He purses his lips as if he can't decide whether to scowl or smile. Shiro looks down at his feet and back up, and the silence stretches on as they consider each other.

Finally, Shiro says: "Let's take a walk."

His eyes widen, and the anger evaporates in the face of this unexpected twist.

"You're… letting me out?"

"I'm _taking_ you out," Shiro clarifies. "Come on. Let's take a walk." He tilts his head towards the cell door.

He stares at Shiro, and wonders if this is some kind of trick. But he's been stuck in this cell for days, and the prospect of a walk and a change of scenery is too tempting to resist. Even if it's just a prelude to rejection. So he follows Shiro out of the cell.

The others stand around awkwardly as they exit, and they exchange glances as he walks past.

"You guys can wait for us in the break room," Shiro tells them, and then he strides towards the elevator before they can protest.

He trails after Shiro and steps into the lift beside him. The doors close, and they ride up one floor, side by side.

He should say something. 'Congratulations on not being dead', maybe.

"You uh. You must be glad to be back."

"Yeah," Shiro says. "Spending six months as a disembodied force ghost is overrated."

The rest of the team disappears from view as the elevator rises up, and it's just the two of them - two Shiros, only one of whom is necessary and wanted. He glances across at Shiro standing next to him, and the anger burns away and he suddenly feels the need to apologise.

"Listen… I'm sorry," he says.

Shiro looks at him. "What for?"

"I stole your life," he says. "I flew your Lion. I pretended to be you."

"You thought you _were_ me," Shiro points out. "It's not really lying. And it sounds like you did a good job filling in while I was gone."

He gapes at him. A _good job_? And… he doesn't seem angry at all. It's weird.

The elevator stops, and the doors slide open to let them out into the Black Lion's hangar. The remains of the alchemy circle still cover the floor, the lines scuffed and faded, and the desk full of equipment still stands in one corner. The Lion looms above them, as tall and proud as ever.

He follows Shiro out across the floor, until they halt under the Black Lion's gaze. Her eyes flash yellow for a moment, and then she lowers her head towards them and purrs. The rumble of it fills the hangar and shakes him down to his bones, but it's a welcome sound.

He missed her, he realises.

"She wanted to see you," Shiro explains. "She wanted to know if you were okay."

"Really? Why?"

"She likes you," Shiro shrugs. "And that counts for a lot."

He steps away from Shiro and places his hand on Black's jaw. The metal feels cold under his skin, but it crackles with life and energy. A wave of gratitude washes over him from the Lion: he helped rescue her beloved Paladin. He brought back Shiro. He smiles, in spite of himself.

"They told me what you did when I was gone," Shiro says.

He turns away from the Lion and looks at him.

"Did they tell you how I spied on them?" he asks. "Or that I attacked everyone?"

"I'm not talking about that," Shiro says. "You flew the Lion. You fought for the team. And Coran told me you threw yourself out the airlock to protect them."

He scuffs his feet against the alchemical lines on the floor. It feels all wrong, accepting praise from the real Shiro.

"I just did what you would do," he mutters.

"Yeah. You did."

Shiro's tone makes him look up. The man still watches him carefully, and there's a lot of emotion in those grey eyes, as if he's still deciding how to react to all this.

"I was mad at them," Shiro says quietly. "I didn't tell them, but… they didn't realise you were different. That you weren't me."

He sees the pain in his face; the ache of feeling replaced, of being told someone impersonated you for months and no one realised.

"They did notice," he says. "I think they put it down to stress. Or trauma. But they definitely noticed. I am not great at being you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I… I yelled at people. And I couldn't use the bayard. I don't have as much patience as you, for some reason. Plus… you can do gymnastics and I can't."

"You can't do gymnastics?" Shiro asks.

"No! I can't even do a fucking handstand! I tried to do a walkover and landed on my ass."

This time, Shiro does smile. Just a little, the corner of his lips ever so slightly upturned, amusement sparkling in his eyes. But… he's not scowling, or screaming. He's not angry at all. He seems to be taking everything in stride.

"So. Not a _perfect_ clone, then."

"No," he says. "Haggar really fucked me over when she made me."

Shiro winces. "She didn't give you a profanity filter, either," he says. "Don't let Lance hear you talk like that."

"Oh. About that…"

Shiro gives him a look that he instantly recognises as the 'what the hell' look. He's used it himself on occasion. And he has to admit… it works.

"You swore in front of Lance?" Shiro asks.

"I got sick of trying to be you!" he protests, suddenly on the defensive. About cuss words, of all things. "It just slipped out. I told you. I make a terrible Shiro."

Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose. "Lance is going to say fuck now, isn't he," he mutters.

"Yeah, probably. Sorry."

Shiro shoves his hands in his pockets and stares around at the Lion hangar, and the remnants of the alchemy ritual that brought him back, and the Lion watching the pair of them with sparkling yellow eyes.

"This whole thing is pretty fucked up, if you think about it," Shiro says.

He shrugs. "It's just swear words. It's not that big a deal."

"No, I meant… all this."

Shiro gestures vaguely at him, and he remembers why they're here. Right. Decide what to do with the spare copy. Politely yet firmly direct the weird clone guy to the exit.

He watches Shiro's face and tries to figure out how this will go down. And he comes to a resolution, somewhere deep in his battered and cynical soul. It's time to do the decent thing and make it easier on everyone.

"Look," he says. "Now you're back… the team doesn't need me anymore. I'm just a spare wheel, and you probably don't want me hanging around making everything awkward. So… I'll take a pod and go. You can send me to the rebels or something. I'll just get out of everyone's way."

Shiro frowns at him. "You want to leave?"

"It's probably for the best."

"That's not what I'm asking," Shiro says. "Do you _want_ to leave?"

He opens his mouth to say that he doesn't mind, that it's best for everyone, that he can start over and make a life somewhere else, nameless and cut adrift. But the words won't come out. Because it stabs at his heart to even think about it. Of course he doesn't want to leave. Of course he wants to stay here, with the team, with his friends and the people he cares about. It's just that he knows he can't.

Shiro nods, as if he understands all the words he can't say.

"Lemme ask you something," he says. "Coran says you put yourself out the airlock. Why?"

He blinks. "What do you mean, why? Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe. Tell me anyway."

He meets his gaze. Shiro stares back at him, grey eyes so similar to his own and yet subtly different, filled with that fire he could never quite muster and that steel that made him such an amazing leader.

"I didn't want to hurt them," he says quietly. "I know they're not really _my_ friends. They're yours. But… I care about them. I thought I might kill Lance and I just… I didn't know if I could stop myself. So I took myself out of the equation. Isn't that what you'd do?"

"It's _exactly_ what I'd do."

They gaze at each other for a long moment, the only noise the hum of the Lion, and he wonders what Shiro is thinking, and why it matters. And then Shiro nods, as if he's made a decision.

"Do you remember when we… when _I_ was a kid," Shiro says. "I had an imaginary twin? I used to play with him whenever I was bored or lonely, and pretend we were having adventures together."

The memories surface, dredged up from the depths of his mind. He _does_ remember. Being young, and imagining this twin because he wanted someone to share everything with.

"I remember," he murmurs.

"I talked to him a lot after _obaasan_ died," Shiro goes on. "I didn't have anyone else, so I talked to him about it. And then when I was in the Galra prison, I used to imagine him visiting me in my cell. Just so I didn't feel so alone."

He nods. "I remember that too."

"Do you remember what he was called?"

The name surfaces in his mind, rushing up out of the darkness, clear and bright as a sunrise.

"Ryou," he says. "You called him Ryou."

"You can't be Shiro, because I'm Shiro," he says with a smile. "So I was thinking: do you want to be Ryou?"

He stares at him - at the man he replaced, the man who has every right to hate him and resent him and be angry at him, but who instead is standing in front of him and offering him a way to make himself whole.

"You want me as your brother?" he whispers.

Shiro shrugs - as if it's nothing, as if it's no big deal, as if it's the easiest thing in the world.

"You have all my memories, so it's kinda like we grew up together," he says. "Plus - I always wanted a twin. So what do you say? Brothers?"

Shiro holds out a hand.

He stares at him: at Shiro, his hand outstretched and inviting - and the most cynical part of him grumbles that this will never work, it's not that simple, you can't just _decide to be someone's brother…_ but he doesn't care. He glances from Shiro's face to his hand, and he blinks back tears because everything has shifted, suddenly, into a brave new world where there is a place for him. A name for him. Someone he can be.

"Yeah," Ryou says. "Brothers."

He takes Shiro's hand. Lets him pull him into a hug, amazed at the easy warmth of it. The tears come before he can stop them, and he buries his face in Shiro's shoulder as the full realisation takes hold of him.

He can stay. Shiro, of all people, wants him to stay.

Shiro's arm tightens around him and he chuckles, and the sound ripples through Ryou as he curls his fist into the back of Shiro's shirt.

"Okay, I get it," Shiro says. "You're the emo twin."

Ryou snorts. He pulls himself out of Shiro's embrace and scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Fuck off," he mutters, without much malice. "I thought you were going to kick me off the ship."

"Why would I do that?" Shiro asks. "Having two Shiroganes around can only be a good thing."

And it's that simple, Ryou realises. Shiro looked at his own clone and decided he was friend-shaped, and that's all there is to it.

"Come on," Shiro says. "The others will be waiting."

"Do you think they'll be okay with this?" Ryou asks.

"I don't see why not."

And maybe hope is foolish, but… Shiro's optimism is infectious. So maybe it will be okay. Maybe it really is as simple and straightforward as Shiro makes it out to be.

They cross to the elevator and ride up together, and the Black Lion sits up and purrs at them as they disappear from her view. Maybe he'll come down and sit with her later. He never really thanked her for everything she did for him, and the warmth and compassion she showed him when he was so lost and alone. He'll ask Shiro first, of course, but he has a feeling he won't mind one bit.

He stands in the elevator, side by side with his new brother, his mind racing through all the new possibilities in front of him. He can stick around and make things up with Keith. Thank Coran properly. Apologise to Allura for being such a pain in the ass. Hang out with Pidge and Hunk, and maybe teach Lance some colourful cuss words just because he knows it will annoy Shiro. The thought makes him smile, just a little. But it's a start.

That said, if he's sticking around, there are some practical issues to iron out.

"So uh. Do you want your room back?" Ryou asks. He glances over at Shiro, who shrugs.

"Nah, you can keep the room. But I'm taking my stuff back."

Another thought occurs to him.

"Can I still wear the armour?" he asks. "Like, if I need to go on missions or something?"

"I don't see why not," Shiro says.

"Well… it will confuse the hell out of people, for one thing."

Shiro grins at him - an actual, delighted, excited grin.

"I know, right?" he says. He looks absolutely thrilled about it.

Ryou searches through their shared memories, and a few pieces click into place.

"You want to pull twin pranks, don't you?" he asks.

"I want to pull _so many_ twin pranks."

He rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of it. Maybe that's why Shiro was so keen to keep him around. It's as good a reason as any.

He tries out his name to himself in his head. _Ryou Shirogane_. He doesn't have to try and be Shiro anymore. No more struggling; no more disconcerting sense of the world being all off-kilter and wrong. He was no good at being Shiro because he never _was_ Shiro - and now he has someone else to be instead. _Ryou_. A brother and a twin. Maybe - if the others accept him too, if Shiro's recommendation carries the weight he thinks it does - maybe also friends. Perhaps, in this weird family where everyone is different, there's room for a broken clone learning to be his own person. There's room for Ryou as well as Shiro.

He grins, in spite of himself. He can't remember the last time he felt happy, but that… that's what he's feeling right now. Happiness. He feels light enough to just drift away.

Shiro flings an arm around his shoulders and tugs him into an awkward semi-hug that feels more like a headlock. He reaches over to ruffle his hair with far more force than is strictly necessary, and Ryou thinks: _this is what it's like to have a brother_.

"That's what I'm talking about," Shiro says. "No more emo twin."

"Get off," Ryou grumbles. He wrestles free of Shiro's arm and makes a great show of trying to fix his hair. He thinks he might grow it out again. The short hair is really Shiro's look. He can cut it however he wants, now.

Shiro catches his expression and smiles at him, warm and open, and he grins in response before he can hold it back. Some of the hardness in his heart softens around the edges, like ice melting under the rays of the sun.

The lift glides to a halt, and they step out into the Castle's corridor. Ryou follows Shiro towards the breakroom, and takes a deep breath as the doors slide open.

Everyone's waiting, and no one's really talking. They sit on the sofas, or in Keith's case lean against a wall, and as the doors open six pairs of eyes turn in unison to look at them.

He stands awkwardly beside Shiro and tries to push down the sudden surge of anxiety.

"So. We talked things through," Shiro says. "And this guy's sticking around."

He points a thumb in Ryou's direction, and the room seems to hold its breath.

"We get to keep him?" Hunk asks.

"Yes," Shiro says, decisively. He puts a hand on Ryou's shoulder. "He's my clone, which means we're twins. Which makes him family. So this is my brother, Ryou."

Ryou looks over at Keith, and sees his eyes dart between the two of them - the two Shiros, different and yet similar.

"So… he's Shiro, too?" Keith asks.

"Technically, we're both called Shirogane," Shiro explains. "So I guess we're both Shiros?"

"It's okay," Ryou says quickly. "You can keep the name. I'd rather be Ryou."

He looks at them all, and tries to read their faces, and gauge their progress in coming to terms with this. He finds himself bracing for the pushback.

Allura moves first. She stands up and approaches him, rather formally, and clasps her hands in front of her.

"Welcome, Ryou," she says. "I'm glad you decided to stay with us."

She _looks_ glad, too. The smile on her face is genuine, and her eyes are sincere as she looks at him.

"Well… you know… he kinda twisted my arm." He gestures at Shiro, and Allura's smile grows a little wider.

"I'm sure he did," she says warmly.

Coran stands up from the sofa, rather theatrically.

"Alright, you lot," he says. "There's food ready in the next room. Shiro needs to eat, he hasn't had a body for six months! Come on!"

He chivvies them all towards the door. Ryou is glad of it: no one is looking at him now, beyond a few stolen glances, and the awkwardness of the room evaporates at the ever-popular suggestion of food. Everyone will take some time to adjust, of course. But at least no one is actively protesting his presence. That's a good start.

Coran lays a hand gently on his arm as he goes to walk past.

"It's good to have you onboard, One-B," he says fondly.

"Thanks, Coran," he says. "That means a lot."

Ryou follows the others towards the dining room, and finds himself beside Pidge.

"So, Ryou," she says. "Since you're a younger sibling now, I hope you will take every opportunity to annoy Shiro as much as possible?"

"Pidge, I'm standing right here," Shiro says, but there's amusement in his voice.

"Well, I have all of Shiro's memories," Ryou says. "So I can tell you some embarrassing stories from his childhood if you like."

"Absolutely not," Shiro says, but Pidge's face lights up, and Ryou fights back a smile.

He will tell them a few, he decides, as they take their seats at the table and dig into the food. Nothing too bad. Just some funny anecdotes, because it will make Pidge and Lance and Hunk laugh and Shiro probably won't mind, for all that he makes a show of protesting. If they're going to be one big messy family then Shiro better get used to being ribbed. And he can't help but think that maybe that was some of the appeal to Shiro - the idea of cutting loose once in a while. Of being a brother as well as a Black Paladin. Maybe he wants to hear the funny stories as much as everyone else.

 

Keith walks him back to his room after dinner, without being asked. He just gets up and follows, and Ryou doesn't question it. Keith isn't angry any more, and that's all that matters. And after the initial awkwardness of dinner, everyone else adjusted pretty quickly. As Lance was keen to point out, they've all met aliens and seen weird alternate realities. A clone brother is almost mundane by comparison.

"You seem happier," Keith observes, as they get to the bedroom door.

"I guess I am," Ryou says. "It's easier to be Ryou than Shiro."

"Hmmm." Keith still looks unsure, but that wary, suspicious look is gone from his eyes. They're getting there. A bit at a time.

"Do you need anything?" Keith asks, as the bedroom door slides open.

Ryou wanders in and sits on the bunk. All his stuff is still here - and some of Shiro's, too, jumbled in with it. They'll have to spend some time arguing over who gets to keep what, but that seems like a classic sibling thing to do.

"This is going to sound weird, but I was reading a book when I was in the cell," Ryou says. "I kinda want to finish it."

Keith smiles. "I can go get the tablet for you. It's probably still down there."

"No rush," he says quickly, lest Keith leap into action immediately. "It can wait."

"Right."

Keith glances around the room, as if he, too, is trying to figure out how much of it is Ryou's and how much is left over from when Shiro slept here.

"Listen… you made a good Shiro," he says. "I know you don't think so, but you did. But… I think you make a better Ryou."

The words sink in, and Ryou nods, slowly, not trusting himself to speak. Keith smiles at him, and then he turns to the door and leaves.

He lies on his bunk and thinks about how, just a few hours ago, he was sitting in a cell waiting to be cast aside. And now here he is. In his own room. He wonders why Shiro did it - why he accepted him so readily, even after everything, and barely blinked.

The door glides open, and Shiro himself stands in the hallway, a box in his hands.

"I came to get my stuff," he says, by way of explanation.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure."

He watches Shiro move around the room and select all the items with especial significance - mostly mementos from missions and excursions, or little trinkets that mean a lot. They all disappear into the box, along with a few changes of clothes from the drawers.

"So you got a new room, then?" Ryou asks.

"Oh, yeah. A better one." Shiro grins. "Big brother perks."

"You're really taking this sibling thing to heart, huh?"

"Of course. Gotta milk it for all it's worth."

He packs the last of the things into the box, and glances around.

"Alright, that's about it," Shiro says. "Guess it's all yours."

"Thanks."

Shiro picks up the box and heads to the door, and Ryou remembers something else - another name that maybe Shiro wants to hear. They are brothers, after all.

"Takashi," he says, and Shiro stops and turns around, and the warmth in his eyes says everything about how much that one small gesture truly means.

"Thank you," Ryou says. "For everything."

Shiro shrugs. "That's what family's for, isn't it?"

"But we're not really family," he points out. "I was grown in a lab by an evil space witch. Don't you… doesn't that matter?"

Shiro regards him thoughtfully for a moment, the box held against one hip, almost at the door but not quite.

"Well… the way I see it," Shiro says, "family is a choice. You don't choose who you're related to, but you get to pick who you're close to, and how you treat them. So I don't know. Maybe I should resent you for existing, but… I don't. I don't have any living relatives. You're the closest thing I have to a biological family, even if you were grown in a giant creepy test tube."

Ryou nods. He can't think of anything else to say. Put like that, it makes perfect sense.

"Don't stress about it," Shiro goes on. "You've been here for months. The only difference is, now you don't have to pretend to be me."

And it really is that simple, Ryou realises. Just like that: new name, new role. New life, made up of the pieces of the old one - but entirely his own, to shape as he wills.

Shiro hits the lock, and the door slides open.

"One more thing," he says, as he heads out. "When we train tomorrow, I'll teach you how to do a walkover."

He grins mischievously and ducks out of the door.

"That's not funny!" Ryou calls after him.

"Yes it is!" comes echoing back down the hallway towards him.

He smiles to himself, and lies down on the bed. Tomorrow… tomorrow he'll have to figure out his role, now that Shiro is back and the Black Lion has her Paladin once again. He makes a mental note to give Shiro his bayard, too. Maybe Coran will appreciate some tactical support on the Castle during battles. Or maybe there's some missions he can help out on. Who knows. But he trusts Shiro to help him figure it all out.

That's what family is for, isn't it?

He stares at the ceiling and whispers the name that Shiro gave him.

"I'm Ryou," he murmurs to himself. "My name is Ryou Shirogane."

And it fits, absolutely and completely, and he smiles at the sound of it on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. i want to quickly thank everyone who read this, especially those who hopped on board when it was still a short thing and then stuck around as it got longer and more unruly. i hope it was worth it in the end.
> 
> also, sorry for any typos i'm posting this at 2am AS USUAL.


End file.
